


Polaris

by lokimostly



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Injury, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It's the only reason I'm writing this AU, Masturbation, Pirate!AU, Puffy shirts everywhere, Slow Burn, The Shirts, Whump, it might remind you of PotC don't @ me, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokimostly/pseuds/lokimostly
Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> The bitch is back! (Me. I’m the bitch). I’m super excited for this, and I hope you are, too! It was promised a long time ago and it’s finally here. This is my first time posting chapter-by-chapter on AO3, so let me know what you think. Cheers! <3

Night fell like a curtain of embroidered silver stars over the port of St. Thomas. The moon rose in a honey-colored crescent over the black blanket of the sea, where the last ships of the day were tied to the docks: all of it visible from your window, the double panels open and welcoming the warm summer breeze. Mid-July was beautiful in the Caribbean.

This would be your last July here. 

You fastened your cloak and set one final look to your bedroom door – locked, of course – before leaning over your nightstand to blow out the lone candle that flickered warmly. You shouldn’t have been awake at this hour; you had a pressing day tomorrow, a day which had already caused several quarrels with your father. 

You also shouldn’t have been climbing out your window.

The dark material of your cloak weighed heavy on your shoulders as you bunched up your dress and swung one leg bravely over the windowsill, bracing yourself against the suddenly-stronger wind that teased and pulled at your hair, enticing strands around your face to come loose. You pulled your other leg over and shifted carefully, searching with one foot for the foothold you knew to be there.

_A-ha_. You planted your foot onto the brick, pushing out carefully – a fall from this height would be deadly – and stood with practiced balance. You exhaled softly, calming your nerves as the wind blew against your back and rippled through your dress. A gecko skittered across the wall and disappeared over the crest of the roof. You watched it go before pushing the panels of your window shut, leaving them unlatched for you upon your return, and began your descent. 

You kept your hands on the windowsill and found the next brick. This convenient path of rugged stone was your tiny stairway to the world at night, to the city below, to freedom. Even though you’d done this so many times before, the taste of anticipation at the adventure to come made your heart flutter happily inside your ribs. 

Your feet hit the cobblestone without a sound and you breathed a happy, exhilarated exhale, pulling up your hood. You cast one last glance at your window before turning and heading down the alleyway, towards the twinkling light of the oceanside town.

The night was yours. 

Despite the sweltering warmth of the night, you pulled the fabric of your cloak a little tighter when you slipped by the front of your father’s estate. Even at this hour there were servants around, standing post at the iron-wrought gates or mingling outside the door to the kitchens. All it took was one pair of eyes, and your little expedition would be ruined.

Not that it mattered, really. You doubted that you’d ever get the chance to do this again.

You would never claim to hate your life. There were just certain aspects of it– the formalities, the frivolities, the bone-crushing corsets – that you could _happily_do without. But being the only child of a moderately wealthy shipping merchant meant that you were born into these things, and expected to die in them. 

You relaxed as your feet carried you further downhill and out of sight from your estate. The streets turned narrower and more crowded despite how late the hour was. Soon, you were making your way through crowds of people: sailors, harlots, vagrants, fishermen, maybe even pirates… not that you would know one if you saw one. Everyone thrived under moonlight.

You would never get the chance to live like these people, so the most you could do was get close. Close enough to taste the salt of the sea, to imagine the feeling of coarse rope between your hands. There was so much you would never experience that you so desperately wanted to: what it felt like to get drunk on cheap tavern liquor, how to handle a ship in a storm, the taste of someone’s lips against yours… 

Well, not the kissing part. Out of everything life had to offer, romance was furthest from your desires. Partly because you’d never been interested in anyone – which was _far_ from a problem in your opinion – but also because it would be forced on you so very soon. The marriage that had been arranged for you since before your birth was coming to a head: you were meeting your fianceé tomorrow. The thought of it made your stomach turn in upset. 

The way you saw it, marriage was the final nail in the coffin of an adventurous life, and you were about to be buried alive.

Once you were in the thrall of the seaside crowds close to the docks, you removed your dark hood and pulled out your braided hair. You inhaled the sweet, salty stench of the ocean, mixed with putrid perfume and the alcohol-ridden breath of the people who passed you by. The ships rocked gently, their wooden bodies creaking like aching joints. Lamplight and candlelight made the port feel like a living being with glowing eyes, blinking away the dark.

It was wonderful. But what to do?

You had every intention of staying out till dawn. Whether or not this was destined to be a remarkable night, you were determined to make it so. It was your last hurrah of freedom – consequences be damned.

The corner pub was positively throbbing with noise, like a pulse point of energy. Somewhere in the clamor you could hear someone playing a four-string fiddle. The sweet sound was mixed with raucous laughter and the occasional breaking of glass. 

A perfect start to your evening.

You slipped in past the crowds outside and immediately found yourself immersed. Tankards clanked together, barmaids wove in between tables, and in the darker corners of the room men played cards and laid wagers amidst cigar smoke and sordid expressions. Everyone here felt open: there was no hiding behind etiquette or polished niceties. There was no stiffness or reservation like you were used to in the daytime. 

Despite the hoots and wholly inappropriate catcalls of the soldiers, you slipped in entirely unnoticed. Free to observe without interruption. You briefly considered buying a drink, but discarded the idea almost immediately. You didn’t care for the taste. Cards, maybe? A quick glance at the tables told you no – there were no women playing, and you wouldn’t dare venturing to a table of burly men on your own. Your nighttime excursions had earned you a few friends through the years, but you couldn’t find any of them in the bar tonight. It was probably better that way – you wanted this night to yourself. 

You found a banister to lean against, wondering what to do, when a laugh caught your attention. It wasn’t the rough and weather-worn roar of a sailor, or the tittering giggle of a barmaid. This laugh was clear as a bell, deep and light at the same time, drawing your attention almost by force.

The source of the sound was sitting at a round table, mid laugh with a tankard in hand. He was unlike any sailor you’d ever seen: fair skin and slick black hair that tumbled down in gentle waves against his shoulders. A jawline you could cut your finger on. The white, bishop-sleeve shirt he wore opened in a wide V that travelled almost halfway down his chest, revealing a scandalous amount of toned muscle. His smile was wide and brilliant and wolfish.

Your heart did a somersault in your ribcage. He was devilishly handsome, there was no denying it. The stark contrast between him and everyone else in this grimy seaside pub was staggering. But there was something about him that frightened you- something lurking beneath the depths. You couldn’t put your finger on it.

You decided not to stay and find out. You turned towards the door, and immediately collided with someone. The glass bottle in their hand hit the floor and shattered. For a split second, the tavern was entirely silent. Even the fiddler in the corner had paused mid-tune.

Then the sound resumed. The fiddler continued his jig; laughter howled and chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Your heart was in your throat as the sailor you’d just slammed into – and also cost a full bottle of rum – turned around with an ill-fated look in his eye.

Oh, god, he was enormous.

“Hello,” you began nervously. Why did your voice have to tremble so much? “I’m terribly sorry–”

“What do we have ‘ere?” He growled, snatching your wrist and squeezing it painfully tight so you couldn’t run. His eyes raked over your figure, surveying you like a choice cut of meat. His breath reeked of alcohol. You grimaced and tried to pull away, but his bear-like hand only tightened its grip. “No, I don’t think so,” he drawled, obviously more than a little drunk. “You got a debt to pay.” 

Your eyes widened and you shook your head - you’d left your coin purse at home. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t have any money,” you pleaded, trying once more to get away from him. It was a futile attempt. The sailor yanked on your arm and you yelped as he pulled you forcefully against his chest. You resisted the urge to throw up – his shirt smelled even worse than his breath.

“Please,” you begged, cowering in spite of yourself as he towered over you. To think you had felt so brave only minutes ago. 

The sailor gave you a nasty smile full of rotting teeth. “I weren’t talkin’ about money.” 

Before you could think of a response (how were you going to get yourself out of this?) you felt the ghost of a hand on your back and a clear, polite voice that spoke through the noise of the tavern. 

“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.” 

The sailor’s sluggish eyes drifted upward and his grip on your wrist loosened as he realized who was speaking: the dark-haired stranger, whose sea-green eyes were staring at the sailor with a fury so cold it made you shiver. This glare was elegantly countered by a charming smile.

“I’d be more than happy to mitigate the debt,” he continued politely, sounding very much like he intended to do no such thing, and would seriously hurt the man if he accepted. The sailor, despite being as drunk as he was, picked up on this subtlety, and dropped your wrist entirely. He muttered something indiscernible – with a few inelegant profanities directed your way– and went back to the bar. 

You rubbed your wrist like it had been shackled, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. Now you had a chance to compose yourself, maybe find some of that courage you had been wanting for. 

The dark-haired man leaned down and whispered into your ear, “if you’ll allow me to escort you outside, milady.” His warm breath on your neck made you shiver.

So much for composing yourself.

You managed a nod and made your way out of the bar with him close behind. You wove through the crowds easily, but people seemed to part for him instead, making way like he was some kind of prince.

Or maybe a pirate.

The thought occurred to you as soon as he stepped out onto the cobblestone street and beckoned for you to follow him, heading a little ways from the lights and crowds of the bar. He walked with a certain gait that you could only describe as cat-like: keeping his shoulders squared, but with a sort of elegance that made him seem quick on his feet. Like he always knew where he was going. 

And against your better judgement, you followed.

“Thank you,” you began, still holding onto your wrist. He slowed, and turned around, gazing at you with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. You shivered. 

“Tell me,” He said, raising a dark eyebrow and setting his hands on his hips as he stepped towards you, “What’s a girl like yourself doing in there? Shouldn’t you be at a gala somewhere?” He sounded like he was teasing you, but the smirk on his lips threw you off. 

You bristled, feeling your pride swell up a bit. “You don’t know what kind of person I am.”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid your dress speaks for itself,” He pointed out, nodding to your fancier-than-usual clothes. Your face flushed and you pulled your cloak around you. He was right. Despite your attempts to dress down, you had never owned anything that wasn’t embroidered with lace. The fact that he saw right through your disguise in less than a minute was more than a little embarrassing. 

The handsome stranger eyed you curiously, watching as the gears in your mind turned over. He held out his hand to you– elegant fingers outstretched in silent offering. You looked down at his hand. Despite its initial beauty, you could see now that his fingers were calloused, and a few white needle-thin scars lined the palms of his hand. Curious.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he said. His words were phrased so sweetly, they were practically dripping with honey. 

You forced yourself to remember why you were out here. What awaited you tomorrow, and for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t let your last night go to waste.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Why did you feel like you owed him an apology? You had nothing to be sorry for. Yet something about those sea-green eyes had you entirely at his mercy.

His eyes narrowed and he retracted his hand. “Why not?” 

“It’s just… this is my last night.” His brow furrowed, but you continued on. “I don’t get another chance to do this, and quite frankly I’m not looking forward to the rest of my life.” You swallowed, staring at him and setting your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I can’t.” 

The handsome stranger merely stared at you. There were micro-expressions that crossed his face while he mulled over your words: a twitch of his eyebrow, a slight narrowing of his eyebrows. It should not have been so fascinating to watch a man think. Then again, he had destroyed a lot of your so-called certainties tonight: most particularly, the idea that you would ever want to kiss someone.

But god above if you didn’t want to press your lips against his. You were so distracted by them that you hardly heard him when he began speaking.

“Let me help you, then.”

You blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let me help make your last night worthwhile.” 

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion and you crossed your arms, trying to figure out why on earth he would offer to help you. “Why?”

He shrugged and smiled, holding his arms out. “If you’re so intent on getting into trouble, you might as well have a friend.” 

“We’re not friends,” you muttered, though the idea was sounding more appealing the more he talked about it. N_o, snap out of it! He’s playing you like a fiddle_, your conscience pleaded.

Unfortunately, you were no longer listening to your conscience. His hand was extended to you once more, and he gave you a look that said _‘go on. Be brave for once.’ _

You were never one to shirk from a challenge.

“Don’t you trust me?” He asked. 

There was that teasing tone again. You held back a snort. “Absolutely not.” 

He grinned. “Smart girl.”

~

Hours later, when the sky was beginning to dim, you climbed the uneven brick wall with tired muscles and lifted yourself onto your windowsill, taking a moment to stare at the city. Even at near-dawn, the lights were still twinkling. The moving specks along the docks that you knew to be sailors were beginning to load the ships with crates and barrels. You breathed in the smell of ocean air, closed your eyes, and savored it for a moment before opening your window carefully, sliding off the sill and landing on the wooden floor. You latched the window behind you.

Your room was undisturbed. You took off your cloak and folded it quickly, shoving it into your dresser. Your dress came off just as fast, despite how tired you were; it fell from your shoulders and pooled on the floor around your feet. With a contented sigh, you fell into your bed, where sleep took you the minute your head hit the pillow. 

And as the sun rose, you dreamed. 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded this the first time in basic HTML by accident so none of the italics were formatted. Whoops. Anyway, it's It's fixed now! xx

“Daughter, if we don’t leave _now_, we’re going to be late!”

“It’s not like it starts without me!” You snapped. You heard your father let out an exasperated noise, quickly followed by his footsteps down the hallway, and then they disappeared entirely. He’d given up fighting with you for the meantime, it seemed.

One of the maids your father employed stuck her head cautiously through your open door like she was peeking into the lair of a waking dragon. “Miss, would you like any help–”

“– I’m fine,” you replied curtly. “You may go.”

She dismissed herself with a relieved expression.

You returned your gaze to the vanity mirror in front of you. You didn’t look anything like yourself. Your hair had been tousled with and brought to heel, stacked so high that you felt like you might topple over if you leaned your head the wrong way. Your face was painted with vermillion, cheeks unnaturally red. Your lips were pigmented, too– they tasted sour and metallic when you ran your tongue over them.

You stared at yourself. You looked miserable. Your eyes dropped to the ornate set of jewelry that had been laid out for you on the vanity. You sighed noisily and reached up to the mountain of hair, searching for the clips that held it so carefully in place. If you were going to be forced into a corset, an obnoxiously heavy dress and even heavier jewelry, you had to compromise somewhere. Besides, how was your future fianceé supposed to know what you looked like if he couldn’t see your real features?

You paused with a hair clip between your fingers. Huh. You’d never thought about your betrothed before. Not as a person, at least – he was always a concept, an abstract figure that you could argue about and passionately loathe for ruining your life’s plans. You didn’t even know what he looked like.

If you were lucky, he might be that handsome stranger.

You threw away the thought just as quickly as it came, and began undoing the mountain of curls on your head. _What a foolish thing to think. You’ll never see him again. You don’t even know his name._

He didn’t know yours, either. It was an arrangement he suggested at the beginning of the night, and you had agreed. After all, the less he knew about you, the better, right?

But he was the first thing on your mind when you were roused by the maids, only a few hours after falling into bed. You blamed the dark circles under your eyes on a bad night of sleep, on account of nervousness – which was laughable. This marriage had been arranged since before your birth. What did you have to be nervous about?

After you pulled a final clip your hair came loose, tumbling down your back in loose curls. Much better. You sighed again – you seemed to be doing that a lot lately – and gave yourself one last look. No, as much as you could daydream about the handsome stranger who walked along the docks with you on your last night of freedom, you knew the truth. You would never see him again.

You tried to convince yourself that it was for the best.

“_Daughter_–”

“I’m coming down!” You called, pulling at the dress to try and ease your discomfort somehow. It was peach-colored – sweet, soft and innocent, as you were supposed to be. You reached up and rubbed the back of your hand against your lips, removing the blood-red stain from them at the last minute.

You could practically feel your father’s veins about to burst when he called you again, this time by your first name. You picked up the hem of your dress, stood, and smiled politely at your reflection: half-practice, half-goodbye. This was, after all, your farewell to your better self. The girl that would walk out of your room would be someone else entirely.

Your eyes pricked with tears and you inhaled quickly– no crying. Instead, you put your chin up, took as deep a breath as you could manage, and walked out the door.

The lone candle stood flickering on the windowsill.

~

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived.

“You changed your hair,” Your father observed as he stepped out, offering you his hand.

“It looks better this way,” you replied testily, taking it. You picked up the fabric of your dress with one hand and carefully descended the steps, until your soft-soled slippers touched cobblestone. You purposefully avoided your father’s expression of displeasure. Instead, you looked ahead.

The estate was enormous. You couldn’t have imagined a house so large, even though yours was the biggest in St. Thomas by far. There were more windows than you could count. The gardens went on forever. Ornate pillars of alabaster stone framed a wide, curving staircase up to the gilded double doors. They were wide open: music and light chatter flooded out like water, ringing out across the grounds and reaching you even as you stood in the drive.

“It seems that it does start without you,” Your father remarked as he offered you his arm– a jab at your comment from earlier.

Your eyes flitted over the estate with an unenthused expression. However skilled the musicians inside may have been, to you the distant music only sounded discordant.

You took his arm and travelled up the stone walkway. Your stomach felt like it was sinking to the depths of the ocean. By the time you reached the stairs, you were surprised there wasn’t a visible thundercloud looming over your head. The servants at the door greeted you – you didn’t hear a word.

When you came through the foyer and into the main ballroom, you had begun preparation for a swift exit.

There were too many people, far too many. The afternoon heat only amplified your feeling of claustrophobia. The room was obscenely large and still felt crowded: lords and ladies dressed to the nines, not a beauty mark or a wig hair out of place. You were immediately grateful for altering your appearance. You stood out now. To this crowd, you undoubtedly looked childish and plain. To your fianceé, at least you might look something like yourself.

A string quartet played subdued, slightly melancholic notes from one corner. You were reminded of the four-string fiddler in the tavern last night – and the sea-green eyes of the man who’d saved you. You felt a pang in your chest. Why hadn’t you run away for good? Smuggled yourself onto a ship and let it take you far away from this?

_I’m a coward_, you thought miserably, as you flashed a reassuring smile towards your father. _No matter how hard I try, I’ll will always be afraid._

You were vaguely aware that the servants had announced your presence, because suddenly the music quieted, and everyone turned to look at you. Hundreds of eyes burned holes in your skin, tearing apart your clothes, makeup, expression– you felt more naked than if you’d stripped. And yet muscle memory prevailed: you smiled, just enough to look seemly, and told yourself it would all be over soon.

Your father tugged subtly on your arm, ushering you into the room. Your heart felt like a bird trying to escape through your chest as you continued to draw the gaze of the crowd. Why were they still staring? Surely your appearance wasn’t that shocking.

“My friend, how good to see you. You look well.”

You turned your gaze and found your father shaking hands with someone: an older man. Your soon-to-be father-in-law. You knew him only by the name of his company: Odin & Sons, the wealthiest shipping merchants in every corner of the Caribbean. Unlike most of the English guests, he wore no wig or lace-covered clothing. There were a few metal clasps in his greying hair, and nothing more. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognised it to be a more traditional Scandinavian style of dress.

_Not that it matters,_ you reminded yourself. _He’s the richest man in the South Pacific, he can wear what he likes._

“And you must be_ her_,” he said, turning his attention to you and extending his hand. You snapped out of your thoughts and forced a smile, giving it to him. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles as you curtsied.

“It’s an honor, Sir,” you said robotically, faltering a little at his title- you weren’t sure if it was the right one.

He noticed, and chuckled. “Odin will suffice, my dear.”

You forced a titter through your lips and straightened up – a small laugh that meant _silly me, what an easy mistake._ There had to be some kind of award for a performance this convincing.

Odin gestured broadly behind him, directing your gaze as he spoke. “May I introduce my sons– Thor, my firstborn, and Loki.”

Your eyes fell on the two tall figures, and then your jaw dropped.

It was him.

The one who walked the town with you last night, who saved you in the tavern, standing there and smiling with all the congeniality his handsome face could offer, like nothing had happened.

And next to him was your fianceé.

“My dear, that’s hardly becoming,” your father teased nervously, and you quickly closed your gaping mouth. Your father chuckled, trying to make light of your inappropriate expression. “I hadn’t told her of your son’s good looks.”

Thor laughed, and you looked at him for the first time. He was good-looking. Like his father, his golden hair was pulled half-back and tied with metal clasps; there were a few braids hiding behind his ears as well. Broad shouldered, with a light beard and twinkling blue eyes … yes, he was handsome.

But then there was Loki.

Gone was the simple dress you’d seen him in the night prior. The wide-sleeved shirt he wore now was a deep sea-green, embroidered to shimmer like water when he moved. The only addition to his appearance was a loose braid that fell to his collarbone, but God if it didn’t do wonders. He looked marvelous: understated yet elegant, with a smirk that betrayed exactly nothing. Even here, he had that air of mystery, like he was somehow a touch out of place.

You let Thor take your hand automatically, but your eyes stayed fixed to his brother: staring at him with such intensity that you were surprised you didn’t leave burn marks in his forehead.

_It’s me_, your eyes said desperately. _We’ve met before._

Loki’s eyes said nothing in return.

“May I have the first dance?” Thor asked politely. Right, there was dancing. You broke your gaze from Loki (with difficulty) and allowed Thor to take you from your father, capturing you with a hand around your waist. You stiffened at his touch, and then forced yourself to relax. This would be your husband soon— you couldn’t flinch every time he touched you.

The string quartet music swelled and in one choreographed movement, the guests paired themselves up. You knew how to dance, of course, but given the nature of your predetermined marriage you had never actually danced with anyone other than your instructor.

“You must forgive me,” Thor said, smiling apologetically. “I’m usually too busy for dancing. I haven’t made a habit of it.”

“You and I both,” You responded distractedly. Your hand barely touched his shoulder as the music steadied to a waltz. Simple enough. You avoided Thor’s gaze like the plague, looking around the room instead – searching for his brother. Did he really not recognise you, after last night’s excursion? Your appearance wasn’t_ that_ different.

Then again, if he was feigning ignorance, you wouldn’t be surprised. He had already proved that he was clever beyond your understanding.

“Your hair is lovely.”

You forced yourself to pay attention to your partner. “Thank you,” you murmured, still avoiding his gaze. “I like yours, too.”

On cue with the music, Thor spun you out and brought you back seamlessly, pulling you to him once more. You found yourself staring at the floor, watching the marble tiles move beneath you. He was obviously taking great care not to step on your feet.

“If we are going to be wed, we should learn to look each other in the eye,” he said gently.

Your gaze snapped up to him as your face flushed. Apparently Loki wasn’t the only one with a watchful gaze. “My apologies.”

“Not necessary,” He smiled, which only made you feel worse.

There was another beat of music-filled silence. You combed your brain for something witty to say, and came up empty. How were you supposed to talk to him? With respect? As a friend? The two of you barely knew each other– you hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

You heard Loki’s familiar, musical laugh and glanced across the dance floor– he had a woman caught up in his arms, spinning her like she weighed nothing and smiling as though he was having the time of his life. You felt an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy, and quickly shoved it back down, forcing yourself to look at Thor again.

By the time you had half a sentence constructed in your mind, the song was over.

Thor parted from you and bowed politely, offering you a genuine smile. “If you’ll excuse me – there is business to attend to that I must oversee.”

Your eyebrows raised and you managed to conjure a mildly disappointed expression. “Oh, it’s alright,” you said, and gave him a condoling smile. “I understand.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” came a familiar voice over your shoulder, as two large hands set themselves on your shoulders. You froze. “I’ll ensure that she won’t perish of boredom.”

Thor laughed. “I have no doubt of that.” He gave you a final nod, and strode through the crowds, disappearing from your sight.

As soon as he was gone, you whirled around with wide eyes, feeling like you were about to combust. “_You–_” you began accusingly.

He didn’t let you finish. Instead, he swept you up into his arms just as the music swelled again, grasping your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist. It sent shivers up your spine that you did your best to ignore.

“Darling, we _must_ stop meeting like this,” he said, and began twirling you across the dance floor. You were forced to stare at his face so you wouldn’t get dizzy. He led effortlessly, weaving through other pairs and picking you up off the ground by a fraction of an inch when called for – unlike Thor, whose dancing required rigid focus, you felt free in Loki’s arms.

Loki. You savored the name in your mind, wondering how it would taste on your tongue. It certainly suited him.

“So you did recognize me,” you said, after you’d reigned your thoughts back in and remembered what you were talking about.

Loki merely smirked, tilting his head slightly in a nod. “You’re hard to forget.”

Your cheeks burned and you scowled. “Don’t try and flatter your way out of this,” you warned him. “Did you know I was your brother’s betrothed when we met? Is that why you wouldn’t tell me your name?”

“Surprisingly, I was unaware,” he admitted, lifting you up and forcing you to hold tightly to his shoulder before setting you back down again. So fluid and simple, but your heart was racing from the adrenaline of it. “It’s a shame. He’ll have a hard time reining you in.”

Your scowl deepened as you tried to discern the meaning behind his statement. “Is that an insult?” You asked, gazing up at his face. Goodness, that jaw of his could cut glass.

In contrast to your faithful stare, Loki’s eyes never seemed to meet yours. “A compliment,” he corrected. He spun you out without warning, pulling you in and holding your back against his chest. His elegant hands gripped your waist just enough to lead without ever making you feel like he was touching you indecently. The irony was that it left you wanting for more of his touch. You wanted to feel his fingers dig against your skin.

You felt a surge of guilt. You shouldn’t be thinking of him that way, not when you were going to marry his brother.

_Why wouldn’t it have been him?_

He brought you back to face him once more, catching your hand and bowing as the song ended. Unlike the first, this waltz seemed only too short. You had a hard time masking your regret when you curtsied.

Then he offered you his hand again.

“What say we catch our breath?”

~

The gardens were a maze. Tall, neat hedges lined the walkways and climbing vines wove around overhanging tree branches, hiding you from the sweltering heat of the evening sun. The grass underfoot was obviously well-tended: there wasn’t a blade out of place.

Loki looked different in sunlight.

The night before, you hadn’t been blessed by the opportunity to observe him in full. You had only seen the shadows and suggestions of his features, alluding to what he truly looked like. Now, you could see the curve of his cheekbones, the angle of his nose, the way his eyes spoke volumes before he ever said a word. He was mesmerizing, and you had a difficult time diverting your eyes.

_So he’s not a pirate after all,_ you thought amiably. _Just a wealthy merchant’s second son._

When you put it like that, he hardly sounded impressive – but he held your fascination nonetheless.

“Tell me, is there something on my face?” He asked suddenly without looking at you. His eyes were, in fact, drawn upward towards the low-hanging bows of the trees.

Your face flushed and you diverted your gaze. “No. I’m sorry, it was rude of me to stare.”

“You’ve been doing it all evening, don’t stop now,” he remarked sarcastically, dropping his eyes and gazing at you. In the light of day, they were more of a light green than the deep sea color you had previously thought. “And you sound terribly mechanical when you talk that way.”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile, and dropped the formalities. “You don’t know me like you think you do.”

It was true, to an extent: you had told him almost nothing about yourself last night. Then again, you knew he saw more than he let on.

But to your surprise, he agreed. “No, I don’t.” He paused, slowing down to consider the roses that were blooming elegantly along the archway above you. They were the same color as your dress. “But I know you’re already tired of him.”

You frowned. “Thor?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Stupidity isn’t becoming on you, either. Who else?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and watched him through narrowed eyes as he looked up at the roses. “I’ve only just met him, I couldn’t be tired of him.”

“I saw your face.” Loki reached up, and there was a small snap as he broke the stem of one flower between his fingers. “This world you’ve found yourself in, full of business meetings, garden parties, empty conversations– it bores you to tears. And Thor is all of that personified.”

His voice and face held no emotional weight– only cold calculation. He was stating a matter of fact.

You reached out to take the flower when he offered it. The wheels of your mind mulled over his words. He was probably right… they had grown up side by side, and if Loki said it, then it must be so.

Thor had left you for a business meeting right after your dance. You hadn’t cared at the time. But the duration of your interaction – and the fact that it felt like he was doing the bare minimum – did make his entrance into your life lackluster. And when you married him, what then? The least you could expect from your fianceé was his attention. And today, Thor hadn’t been able to give you that.

You had a feeling it wasn’t going to change.

Loki watched silently as you thought it over and your countenance fell, and he hummed through his nose.

You looked up sharply. “_What_?”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, smirking. “So unhappy and yet you do so little to prevent it.”

You stiffened as a rush of heat rose to your face. “You don’t know me,” you repeated, more serious this time.

“No?” He asked, stepping towards you so suddenly that you took a few steps back, hitting the trunk of a willow tree. The bark dug into your back as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

His expression had changed. The deep sea-green color of his eyes was back, dark and dangerous like an impending storm.

“I know that it wasn’t just surprise that held your gaze on me and not your beloved,” He stated. His voice was low and sultry as he reached forward, holding your chin between his forefinger and thumb so you wouldn’t look away. “Tell me, little one, when you’ve finally wedded him and resigned yourself to a life full of everything you despise, how long will it take before I find you in my bed, whimpering in the dark, begging me for the comfort your husband cannot give?”

There was a sharp sound.

You stared, petrified, as you watched the pale skin of Loki’s cheek blush crimson from where your hand had struck him. He pulled away from you and reached up, slowly, ghosting his fingers over his skin.

You were speechless.

Loki stepped away, leaving you pressed against the willow. You were gripping the rose so tightly that the thorns had pricked your skin, little rivulets of blood trickling through your fingers. Your chest heaved with emotion, but still you made no sound.

He chuckled, dropping his hand and narrowing his eyes. His genuine smile sent a shiver down your spine - and not an unpleasant one, either.

“I think,“ he said slowly, offering you his arm with a smirk to walk back, "that you and I are going to get along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3


	3. III

The noise of the ball could still be heard until the late hours of the night.

You, however, decided to retire as soon as you returned from the gardens, returning to the main hall as discreetly as you could and requesting that you be showed your rooms.

Your father had obliged and blamed “overexcitement” for your eagerness to retire, which you didn’t bother to argue. Whatever aided you in escaping this night– in escaping Loki – you would gladly endure.

It felt like an eternity before your father made a motion and drew your attention to the far corner of the room. Thor was there, smiling like he’d never left as he took your arm and escorted you to the guests’ wing.

As the sounds of the string quartet quieted, your thoughts only increased in volume. Once again you found yourself at a loss for what to say to Thor. But before you could think of anything, he beat you to the chase.

“Did my brother keep you entertained?” He asked, looking down at you.

Your grip on his arm tightened subconsciously when your mind returned to what Loki had said in the gardens.

_Tell me, little one, when you’ve finally wedded him and resigned yourself to a life full of everything you despise, how long will it take before I find you in my bed, whimpering in the dark, begging me for the comfort your husband cannot give?_

You cleared your throat, hoping that the crimson rouge on your cheeks would hide your blush. “Yes. He was… charming.”

Thor chuckled. “That does sound like Loki. He has a reputation for charming his way into a woman’s bed on a whim.” He smiled, like this was a fact he was unbothered by. “Though I’m sure he behaved for you.”

You tried to laugh, and it sounded hollow. What would Thor think if he knew what Loki had said? How he’d pinned you down like a cat with a mouse, watching you squirm beneath the claws of his words if only for his own amusement? Or worse, that you might have, possibly, _maybe_, enjoyed it?

Luckily, the gilded door to your room saved you from continuing that train of thought.

“Well,” you said quickly, letting go of Thor’s arm and giving him the briefest of smiles. “Good night, then.”

Thor returned the smile – though his was certainly longer and more genuine – and kissed your hand in farewell. “Goodnight, my lady.”

The term of endearment rang unpleasantly in your ears and you did your best not to grimace, slipping inside your room without a word.

The door clicked shut behind you and you slid unceremoniously to the floor, letting your head fall back against the wood while the most miserable sigh of your life passed your lips.

You hated it with every fiber of your being, but Loki was right. You were tired of Thor already.

Your eyes shifted listlessly over the room and you pulled off your slippers, pushing yourself up again. Despite the size of it, the bedroom felt stuffy and confined. A four-poster bed canopied with luxurious red curtains took up a ridiculous amount of space. There were a few dressers, a vanity, a clawfoot tub hidden behind a folding screen. Your window – the first thing you checked – was sealed at every edge, with no hinge or latch in sight. No nighttime escapes, then.

You went into the bathroom, wriggled your way out of your dress, undid the last curls of your hair, and scrubbed your face red until the garish makeup was gone and the water from the faucet turned clear.

When you changed into a chemise and fell onto the bed with a dramatic exhale, all you wanted to do was sleep.

But once your head hit the pillow, all you could think of was Loki.

Try as you might to push him from your mind, Loki wormed his way into your subconscious. The light of the sun faded from your window, the stars came out and twinkled, the music from the dancing hall permeated the walls in low tones, and still you couldn’t escape him. When you finally fell asleep somewhere in the long hours of the night, he walked through your dreams. Your sleeping eyes could see him more clearly than if he stood in front of you: his white billowing shirt, raven hair curling in the wind. You thumbed over the curve of his lips in your mind, traced his jaw and ran your hands down his chest.

Your dreams pulled you deeper. He was everywhere, now – his hands gripping your hips, pressing his lips fervently to yours while a pleasant buzz filled your nerves and warmth pooled in your stomach. Even in sleep you could taste him, the salt of the sea on his lips mixed with something sweeter. You moved with him like the tide, gasped for breath at his attentions, arched your back when his hand disappeared between your legs, and––

You jolted awake with a gasp. The quilts were quickly abandoned when you threw them off and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, setting your bare feet on the cool floor while your chest heaved for breath, a thin layer of sweat over your skin.

“What the hell?” You breathed weakly, pushing your hair back and trying to quiet your pounding heart. Your eyes were wide in the dark.

You didn’t sleep again that night.

~

The terms of your engagement were solidified that morning.

While last night’s gala had been a stressful coming-out to high society, today’s more mundane events were much easier to keep up with. You saw nothing of Loki, and barely any of your fiancé – there were a few more words spoken, engagement rings gifted. The golden band and heart-shaped garnet around your finger felt more like a pair of handcuffs.

What vague idea you had of your future was outlined more clearly over breakfast: you would leave this week on a ship called the _Marie Valette_ for a town in southern Norway – Thor’s original home, apparently – and the wedding would take place there, in about six months’ time. According to your father, the traditional waiting period would “allow you time to acclimate to your new life.”

To you, it sounded like plenty of time to conjure an escape plan. Or, if all else failed, plunge into the ice-cold waters of Scandinavia and drown.

Thoughts of a similarly dreary nature were occupying your mind when you took to wandering the halls on the third day of your stay, looking out at the gardens through the tall glass windows. It was too hot to be outdoors, and even inside the sweltering temperatures couldn’t be avoided. Strands of hair clung to your skin and beads of sweat trickled down your back. What you wouldn’t give for a shirt and trousers instead of the heavy, cotton dresses you were expected to wear.

You twisted the ring on your finger and stared up at the thin wisps of cloud against the blue sky, thinking about your betrothed – who you’d seen exactly none of since your second day here. He was always called away to the tasks that required more attention and care from him than you did. Though, it may not have been through any fault of his own; Odin was grooming Thor to take over his empire, and no doubt it was a challenging and time-consuming task. Had your father ever entertained your interest in his business, you might actually know something about it.

_Maybe then I would’ve had something to talk with Thor about,_ you surmised.

Apart from his constant absence, there was nothing inherently wrong about Thor. But as kind, as polite, as congenial as he was, you still couldn’t bring yourself to love him. Every brief interaction was entirely performative. You couldn’t help but feel like it might be the same on his end: he always said just enough, had some practiced excuse to leave, and whether or not it was legitimate, the fact remained that you were left alone.

And then there was Loki.

Your mind had plagued you with insatiable dreams of him for three nights in a row. You tried desperately to convince yourself that it wasn’t him you desired – just the freedom he represented, the mystery and allure of a life to call your own. So why were your dreams full of nothing but tangling your hands in his raven locks, pressing yourself against him and kissing him, tearing open his shirt and running your hands over the warm skin beneath?

Something large and hand-shaped pulled you from your thoughts when it ghosted over your back, and you shrieked.

“Heavens, aren’t we skittish,” Loki observed, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. His handsome face was decorated with a smirk – the kind that inclined you to think he startled you on purpose.

You pressed your hand against your chest to calm your pounding heart and glared at him. “What do you want?”

Loki clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, raising an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, little one, I might think you didn’t care for me.”

Your mind flashed back to the dreams you’d been having, and your face flushed. “Evidently you don’t,” you managed, smoothing down your dress and pushing a strand of hair back to retain some semblance of composure. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t you?” He asked, tilting his head and clasping his hands behind his back. “I came to say goodbye.”

Your irritated demeanor faltered. The only interesting thing in your life – loathsome and irritating as he was – was about to leave you. “Oh?”

Loki’s sea-green eyes caught the change in your voice and he chuckled. Damn it, he had you positively wrapped around his finger.

“My ship leaves in a few hours. It seems our coincidental encounters must come to an end. Your journey to Europe is not his will be our last meeting for some years, I’m afraid.” He turned slightly solemn at this, and you were suddenly reminded of the polite, eloquent Loki you met in the tavern.

“Oh,” you repeated, and tried your best not to look disappointed. “Where to?”

Loki shrugged, unclasping his hands to pull at the dark fabric of his wide sleeves. “West. I’m overseeing a shipment of goods to Kingston.” He said it like he’d practiced and recited the fact many times.

Your eyebrows pulled together slightly and you took a moment to marvel at the fine features of his face. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he was carved from marble. The sharp lines of his jaw and mouth, combined with the softness of his ocean eyes… he was a mystery inside and out.

You remembered what Thor had said about him. _He has a reputation for charming his way into a woman’s bed on a whim._

“You’re staring again,” Loki pointed out, smirking.

Your eyes snapped a bit wider and your forehead wrinkled in a defensive frown. “Well, if this is the last time I get to see you, I’m allowed to look.”

Loki chuckled deep in his chest- a musical sound that echoed against the walls. He took a single step towards you, but it enclosed you. You moved backwards out of instinct, staring up at his face as the honey-coated words slipped through his lips.

“But you want to do more than look, don’t you?”

This time, you didn’t slap him. Instead, you stood speechless while your face burned and your stomach twisted into pleasant knots. Of course there was no way he could know about your dreams, right? Or were you truly that easy to read?

No, he couldn’t possibly know. He was trying to goad you for his own amusement. 

You blinked. _Of course. He’s only teasing me because he can’t have me._

The realization was strangely freeing. To your surprise, you smirked. “Well, I might suggest that you stow me away aboard your ship and get me out of here, but…” You raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Like you said before– you would rather I resign myself to misery and come crawling to you later, yes?”

Loki’s smile still hovered over his lips, but you could tell that you’d caught him by surprise: his hands had dropped, and his beautiful eyes were narrowed. Calculating. Curious.

“I couldn’t,” he said slowly. His eyes flickered over your face, and he shook his head as his smile faded. “I couldn’t take you away. Not for the reason you think, but I… ” A distinct moment of palpable silence stretched between you like a chasm, and you found yourself wondering who you were looking at. This merchant’s second son, this courteous stranger, this aggravating man you couldn’t stop dreaming of.

Who was he, _really_?

Then, just as quickly as it happened – gone. Loki smiled easily and took your hand, raising his eyebrows as he pressed a farewell kiss to your knuckles. His breath was warm on your skin.

“You must write to me, though,” He said, straightening with a wicked smirk. “I can’t wait to hear of your plans to escape. I’m sure they’ll be positively thrilling.”

“Something tells me that if I confided in you, my plans would mysteriously fail,” you insinuated, narrowing your eyes.

Loki shook his head, stepping back. “Little one, if there’s one thing you can count on me for, it’s not to spill your secrets.” He winked. “I already know one or two, don’t I?”

~

“Daughter, have you heard a _word _I’ve said?”

You were pulled out of your thoughts with a jolt and cleared your throat. “Yes,” you lied, turning your head to look out the carriage window. The green palm fronds and cobbled buildings of St. Thomas passed by as you journeyed towards the docks, where The _Marie Valette_ was waiting.

You were leaving today.

“I’m told the estate and grounds are even grander than the ones here – it’s been a family home for generations. You’ll be well-occupied until your fiancé arrives.”

“Why isn’t he going there now?” You asked sullenly, glaring at the people who you passed like they were to blame for your state of being.

“He is the heir to the largest shipping company in the Caribbean. I think you can count on him to be busy.”

“Of course I can,” You spat sarcastically, feeling your blood heat up and rush to your face as your anger crested. “A husband who’s never there, while I live in a country I’ve never been to, away from everyone I know. How could I _possibly_ be unhappy?”

“I know you’re still cross with me,” your father said, notably exasperated, “but I believe you will come to respect Thor in time.”

“Respect,” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“What about love?”

“Love?” Your father chuckled, like it was a ridiculous question. “I had no idea you were interested in such a thing. You never have been.”

Your nostrils flared and your blood boiled, but you didn’t respond. There was no point to it – and if this was the last time you would see your father for half a year, you didn’t want it to end in a shouting match.

The carriage slowed to a stop and the valet opened the doors, helping you out. You stepped onto the road and the smell of the sea hit your face, warm and salty-sweet, and your heart wrenched. It was the same scent that permeated the memories of your nighttime excursions.

The sea in Norway wouldn’t smell the same. It wouldn’t look the same, either– there would be no aqua blue or pale white sand, only deep, dark green and ice-cold waves, breaking endlessly against the rocky shore.

You wished now that you knew how to swim – maybe then you could jump ship while still in the southern hemisphere. Compared to the cold and lonely future that awaited you across the Atlantic, living alone on a desert island didn’t sound so bad.

The valets took your trunks away to be loaded onto the ship. Your father exited the carriage and came up beside you, smiling and squeezing your shoulders. “Come now, chin up. You’ll be living in luxury, after all. Odin’s ships are the Caribbean’s finest.”

You hummed flatly, looking out at the row of ships docked in the port. Big and small, old and new, their names printed in wide letters along the hull. Carved birds, mermaids, and other figureheads posed stoically on the bows of their vessels. Sailors and merchants hauled cargo, passengers fussed over their belongings. But something was missing.

“Father?” You asked slowly, gripping his sleeve to get his attention while your eyes trailed along the docks. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head. No, you weren’t mistaken.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Look,” you said simply, and nodded to the bay.

The _Marie Valette_ was nowhere to be seen. 


	4. IV

You were elated.

And your father, of course, was furious. You barely paid any attention to his rampage, trying your best to keep a straight face while he demanded to know what had happened and who was responsible. The poor dock workers scrambled to placate him. They knew who he was, of course -- the man who practically owned St. Thomas. And so they fell over themselves to explain what went wrong and offer some recompense.

“They left not ten minutes ago, sir–”

“there’s a storm coming up from Barbados–”

“–yes, and they weren’t keen on gettin’ caught.”

“They _left_?” Your father spluttered, face flushed with anger. “Well, send a boat and catch them!”

This gave them pause. One of the dock workers made eye contact with you and you shared a mutual glance of sympathy.

“With– with all due respect, m’lord, they’ve left the harbor already.”

“Then FIND ANOTHER SHIP!” Your father roared, looking like he might go into orbit at any second. The veins in his neck popped and his face was entirely flushed. The dock workers and valets scattered– while you, deflated and more than a little ashamed of his outburst, merely stared at him.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his suit, like smoothing out the wrinkles would soothe the atmosphere somehow. “It’ll be alright,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

This drew you out from your silence. “Oh, it’ll be alright, will it?” you asked. The familiar bubbling of anger started to fizz in your stomach again. “Are you _that_desperate to be rid of me?”

“I am not _desperate_,” your father corrected, straightening the scarf around his neck. “I am merely _determined _to secure your future.”

You clenched your jaw. “I think you mean your business venture.”

Your father turned on you and took a step forward, but you didn’t retract. You stood your ground and stared him in the eye, allowing your pent-up frustration to come through your face for the first time in too long. If your encounters with Loki had taught you anything over the past week, it was what intimidated you – and what did not.

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by one of the dock workers. “Sir, there’s one other ship bound for the same destination – but the accommodations are hardly –”

“That will be _fine_, thank you,” your father snapped, keeping his eyes locked on you. At his imperious beckoning, the valets took your trunks and headed down to the docks.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but you weren’t having it.

“My mother wouldn’t have done this.”

You could almost hear your father’s thoughts as he travelled through several degrees of anger at once. He reached out and grabbed your chin, turning you sharply to face him. His lip curled venomously, baring his teeth.

You winced and tried to pull away, but he held you in an iron grip. “Remember your place, daughter,” he snarled, in a voice so cold you felt like someone had dumped ice water over you. “I have been patient with you, but you will not test me any longer. Do you understand?”

You could only nod.

Your father released you and you stepped away, both hands going up delicately to touch your face as if to make sure that he hadn’t left marks there. Your chest shook with emotion. Tears pricked on your waterline. You blinked them away hastily, pressing your lips together and keeping your eyes low, when you heard one of the dock workers approach.

“The ship is ready for you, sir.”

Your father shook his hand. “Good lad.” He paused, waiting for you. “Daughter?”

You swallowed your tears and calmed your shaky breath. “I’m coming.”

You picked up your heavy skirts to descend down the steps and followed them across the wooden dock. The sound of waves gently breaking against the aged pillars that held up the boardwalk kept you in your thoughts – until you nearly ran into your father and stopped short, looking upwards.

Your new ship was hardly a luxury vessel. It wasn’t even a halfway-decent merchant ship. The name – The _Bella Notte_ – had been painted so long ago that it was beginning to crack. The hull itself was covered in barnacles and half-rotting. The sails were yellowed, patches sewn over patches, and the crew themselves hardly looked trustworthy. If your father cared in the slightest about your _well-being_, he wouldn’t let you within a mile of this ship or its crew. He, of all people, was accustomed to a certain uncompromised standard of living.

But it was obvious to you now that he _didn’t_ care – not really. He had only tolerated you up until this point, because up until this point it hadn’t mattered. Now, with a tie to the wealthiest shipping merchant in the Caribbeanat stake, he wasn’t going to give you an inch.

If you did escape this marriage somehow – and you were determined to do so – you knew one thing: you wouldn’t be coming back to your father. Wherever your new life took you, it wouldn’t be here. You doubted that your footsteps would ever walk St. Thomas’s streets again. The night you’d snuck out your window, infiltrated the tavern, met Loki... that really _had _been your last night of freedom. Your life would never be the same.

At the thought of it, your heart broke inside your chest and you did your best to stave off the tears that kept welling up in your eyes. The valets took your luggage aboard, and you turned around to say goodbye.

You gave your father a watery smile, which he responded to by extending his arms for a hug. His embrace, as warm and comforting as it would have seemed moments ago, now felt like wrapping your fingers around the bars of a former prison cell.

A tear fell from your eyes, but you didn’t wipe it away. Instead, you let your father pull back and notice it, watched him click his tongue and brush his finger over your cheek to wipe it away. _Let him think the tears are for him_, you thought vacantly. _This is the last time I’ll ever see him. Let it be a good memory._

“I’ll see you soon,” He said, squeezing your arms before letting go. You merely smiled – that same performative muscle memory – and turned around, heading up the gangplank.

You didn’t look back.

~

The _Bella Notte_ set off and kept a steady course northeast. The captain – a respectable fellow, you decided – had assured you that you would reach the coast of Europe in around three weeks. Longer than a normal voyage, but time had to be allocatedfor avoidance of the hurricane.

Either way, it was plenty of time to think of a way to get out of your current situation.

You mingled on the deck for the first hour or so, but the crew made you uneasy. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been around sailors before. Quite the opposite. Your nighttime excursions had led you to some of the most unsavory persons, and merchant sailors weren’t usually included in that description. These men, however, wouldn’t take their eyes off you.

You heard more than a few mutterings about who you were, and why you might be here. The general consensus was that it was bad luck to have a woman on the ship. Others, more curious about your personal history, suggested that you were a bastard child. Some speculated about your marital state: that you were carrying some reprobate's spawn and being sent away to save your family’s honor.

Funnily enough, none of them seemed to consider that you were _actually _decently wealthy, or engaged to a merchant heir. This ship attracted people of low-quality, and if you were here, you must be one too.

So you retired to your cabin.

The Captain had been paid to give up his quarters for you. It was a nice room despite the exterior: a narrow bed, heavy oaken desk and hanging lanterns to light the darker corners. A small, paneledwindow above the bed showcased the cerulean sky outside.

You picked up your skirts and sat down in the desk chair, setting your elbows on the armrests and letting your chin fall into one hand. Hardly afternoon and this day was already exhausting.

Your eyes drifted lazily over to the desk and you spotted a quill and inkwell. There was paper in the drawers, no doubt. Perhaps you should write a letter to Loki.

You scoffed aloud and stood up, discarding the idea. _How ridiculous_, you scolded yourself as your face heated up. _What could you possibly have to say that he’d want to hear?_

But he _had_ told you to write to him.

Had he been serious? Or merely joking? For the life of you, you could never tell. Still…

By the third hour of your self-inflicted confinement to your cabin, you had picked up the pen half a dozen times, found paper and set it out, and ruined one sheetby blotting the ink on the page.

You couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

And yet, here you were again: you crossed the floor with a newfound determination, sat down at the chair, picked up the pen, and––!

“Oh, _hell_,” You swore quietly, glaring at the blank parchment. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Dear soon-to-be brother-in-law, could you please help, I am perishing of boredom and I’ve half-decided to drown myself because your brother and I don’t suit each other,’” You recited mockingly, setting the pen down once more. You leaned back in the chair and put your hands over your eyes, groaning at the headache which had been steadily growing for the past half hour.

Your hands fell and you let your head loll to the side. You blinked tiredly. Maybe sleep would do you good. According to your window, it was around nightfall, anyway.

With a sigh, you heaved yourself out of the chair for the umpteenth time and practically fell onto the bed. There was no point in discarding your outer dress– no one here would care if you wore the same dress twice in a row. No one cared about you at all. Not your father, not Thor – though perhaps he did try – and certainly not the sailors.

You shifted onto your side and pulled a pillow towards you. The garnet on your finger glinted red. You stared at the gem for a moment before reaching out and spinning it slowly around your digit. The metalwork was finely crafted, securely wrapped around the heart-shaped gem. That didn’t make it less unappealing to you, but at least you could admire its quality.

When you did fall asleep, staring at the ring from your fiancé, it wasn’t him you were thinking of.

~

You woke with a start.

The lanterns in your room glowed brightly against the blackness – it was barely dawn, and the pale light of the sun had scarcely started to lighten the starlit sky outside your window. Your heart pounded with adrenaline at your sudden awakening. Why were you awake? The vague memory of more obscene dreams was falling from you like sand through your fingers. No, it wasn’t your dreams. something had happened outside your mind and pulled you from your slumber.

You could feel it. Something was wrong.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed, setting your bare feet on the wooden floorboards. Your blood roared in your ears, making it difficult to hear anything that might be happening outside.

Then, footsteps above.

You barely had time to think of it before the doorknob rattled and shook, and the old oak door gave way with a splintering crack.

A shriek escaped your lips and you grabbed the closest thing you could find – a candelabra – and swung it blindly. It connected with shocking force, and the intruder dropped unconscious to the floor. 

You stared down at him in horror and dropped your weapon. You didn’t recognize this man. His striped shirt, bald head, tattooed forearms – sure, all sailors looked somewhat similar, but you would’ve wagered ten guineas that this man wasn’t a part of the crew.

Before you had time to do anything about it, however, another man appeared in the doorway, heavyset and bearded. With a sword.

It clicked. “Pirates,” you said weakly.

The man saw his unconscious mate and roared, reaching out for you with large, calloused hands. You shouted, trying to escape, but the confines of your quarters were suddenly much smaller when he was in them. He grabbed your hair and yanked you back painfully.

You cried out and gasped, trying to think quickly. Your bare heel slammed back against the bridge of his foot. He shouted and his grip on your hair loosened, just enough for you to slam your head back against him – and he lost his grip entirely. His calloused hand ripped the fabric of your dress in a last-ditch attempt to hold on, but you pulled away and left him with only a piece of pale satin in his fist.

You wasted no time. While he staggered back with one hand wiping at the blood that dripped from his nose, you snatched up your candelabra, and swung it as hard as you could.

Two pirates on the floor.

You stared at them with wild eyes, your chest heaving, and let out a little squeak. “Alright,” you breathed, trying to calm yourself. “Pirates.” You swallowed. There would definitely be more on deck, and you couldn’t fend them off with a candelabra.

You set down your blunt weapon and knelt down, shoving the man over enough to reach for his sword. The thin rapier rang when you pulled it from its sheath, long and sharp and glinting in the lantern light. It was cold and heavy in your hands.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted you and you whirled around, holding the sword out with both hands. “I’m armed!” You shouted – it was the first thing that came to mind – and did your best to grip the hilt with your sweaty hands.

The intruder stopped short in the doorway, and your jaw dropped.

It was Loki. 

You gaped at him in pure shock, staring into his sea-green eyes. _This is a dream, _you thought. _It has to be. _

But you could feel the blood pumping in your veins, the sweat prickling on the back of your neck. No, this was all too real. And for the third time, you were brought face-to-face with the man in your dreams, who was staring at you now in pure and genuine confusion. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. 

Like the night in the tavern, he was dressed in black pants and a puff-sleeved shirt that showed far too much of his toned chest. But for once, that wasn’t what you were looking at. His face was currently the most shocking thing about him. His genuine emotion was unmasked before your eyes, like seeing a glimpse of an actor instead of the character they played.

Loki shook his head and his brow quirked. He licked his lips, struggling to form a sentence, when footsteps above alerted you both.

Fear rose in your throat like bile and a distressed noise escaped your throat. “Loki–” you began.

“Do you trust me?” He asked abruptly.

You stared at him for a second longer. Your hands were shaking visibly. “_No_,” you said, a little hysteric.

“Smart girl.”

Before you could protest, Loki crossed the floor and grabbed you by the waist, snatching you up and dragging you up the stairs. The sword dropped from your hands with a yelp. “Hey!” You wriggled and fought against him, but his grip was even stronger than you’d anticipated, and he pulled you up with him onto the deck.

The pale light of dawn illuminated the merchant crew and captain being tied to the masts, bound and gagged at the hands and feet. The captain stared at you, wide-eyed, and made a sound that sounded vaguely like ‘_help!_.’ As if there was a think you could do. 

“Check those knots!” a red-haired man shouted – the first mate, you assumed numbly – and the pirates obeyed.

You tried to move again, and Loki’s grip tightened painfully as he pulled you flush against him. “Play along,” He ordered through his teeth, in a gravellyvoice that sent shivers down your spine. Loki’s fingers dug into your waist, tangled in the thin fabric where your dress had torn, one less layer between your skin and his.

_Not the time,_ you thought desperately. If only your mind could obey.

The first mate reached up to stroke his beard and turned around, seeing you. And when he did, he found. “Cap’n. Who’s this?”

_Captain? _You wondered, before the cold metal of Loki’s sword was at your throat and you froze. You could hear Loki’s silky voice like it was submerged in water.

“The precious cargo. This little debutante is worth keeping alive. All you need to know,” He added, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, “is that she’s off limits.”

The first mate seemed to find this answer satisfactory, nodding and turning back to his task at hand. Your eyes flickered to the east, where the ocean was beginning to turn pink and yellow in anticipation of the sun. Were it not for the fact that you were currently being held against Loki– no, a _pirate –_with a sword to your neck, you might have found it beautiful.

You should have run away, on your last night in St. Thomas. You should have packed a trunk and ran. 

“And what about the rest? The ship?” You heard the first mate ask.

You felt Loki’s chest swell against your back when he inhaled. The cold metal of his sword pressed lightly against the skin of your neck – nowhere near enough to hurt, but it frightened you nonetheless – and his deep, melodic voice sent a cold ripple through you when he spoke. 

“Burn the ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you see it coming?


	5. V

“_Captain?!_” You repeated, whirling around as soon as Loki closed the door to his cabin. When the latch clicked shut, the clamor of thumping boots and gravelly voices dimmed somewhat.

You were a mess with your hair askew and dress tattered. Loki, on the other hand, looked the picture of how you’d seen him the night you met: roguishly handsome, dressed in black with a mysterious streak in his sea-colored eyes. An unruly curl of raven hair fell into his face when he sheathed his rapier. His lips were pressed together in a thin line of silence.

His lack of response unnerved you. How was he so calm? Your chest was heaving with emotion. 

You took a step forward across the dark floor. “I _knew _it,” you declared, jabbing your finger at him. “I knew you were a pirate from the moment we met–”

In an instant Loki had crossed the floor and you were pinned against the wall. Not the response you’d been hoping for, but it was something. 

“What are you playing at?” He snarled, holding you against the panelling by your wrists, one of his knees pressed between your legs. You tried to swallow your heart and ignore the twisting of your stomach at the same time. This felt uncomfortably similar to one of your dreams. His nose nearly brushed against yours. He was so close you could _smell_ him – that odd combination of leather, saltwater and rose. 

You swallowed. His eyes were locked with yours, searching, prying into your mind for the answer he desired. “Why were you on that ship?” He asked in a low growl.

“Why do you care?” You quipped, hoping that you sounded brave.

“Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t flatter you,” he snapped, and let go. You hadn’t realized he was holding you off the floor until his hands loosened their grip and your back slid down the wall. Your feet nearly stumbled when they hit the floor, and you caught yourself on the dresser. 

Loki stepped away, undoing the sword belt from his waist and tossing it onto the bed. You watched as he clenched his jaw and exhaled through his teeth – this was the first time you’d seen him frustrated, wasn’t it? Part of you wanted to laugh at him. He obviously wasn’t well-acquainted with not getting his way. But the other, _deeper_ part of you found it arousing to watch him rake a hand through his black hair, to see his muscular chest pull against the fabric of his shirt when he breathed in, the way his jaw flexed. 

A mix of arousal and curiosity ate at your insides like a dog gnawing on dry bones. “So you don’t deny it?” You prodded, cautiously leaning forward when you asked. “That you’re a pirate?” 

“Well, it’d be a little hard to now, wouldn’t it?” Loki said, in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone, not the hostile one you were expecting. He reached back and pulled his hair swiftly into a ponytail, loose strands falling forward and into his face, but he paid them no mind. His long legs strode over to the ornately carved desk on one side of the room and he sat down, setting his boots atop the desk and turning his head to look at you. “I won’t ask again. Why were you on that ship?”

You shrugged, stepping away from the wall. “The vessel I was originally condemned to left mere minutes before I arrived.” Loki watched silently as you began looking around the room, growing more comfortable. His eyes trailed you as you found the large four-poster bed, the ornate rug and armchair, the modest shelf of books near the desk. The room_ felt_ like Loki’s– there were pieces of him strewn about like a puzzle, hiding inside the bookshelves or in the sea-green embroidery of the pillows –just waiting to be put together. 

You glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow when you caught him staring. Your gazes held. “I thought it might’ve been your doing,” you continued.

Loki scoffed, shaking his head and waving a hand dismissively. “No. I would never be so obvious. And I told you I couldn’t help, remember?”

You shrugged and walked over to the desk, picking up an ornate metal sphere off its stand and fiddling with it, spinning it with your fingers. “So why attack my ship?” You asked. “A question for a question.”

Loki reached up and snatched the bauble from your hands. “It wasn’t _your_ ship. _You_ are an unforeseen complication, which I am dealing with as politely as I can. If you recall, my intent was never to capture you.”

“What _was_ your intent?”

His eyes stared up at you for a moment before he laughed, flashing his wolfish white teeth. “What, there has to be some deeper motive to piracy?” He asked, closing eyes and leaning his head back against the chair, exposing more of his skin. The pale column of his neck travelled downwards until it disappeared into his open-necked shirt.

You huffed and did your best not to stare, focusing your frustration into your words instead. “Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t flatter you.” Loki’s mouth quirked at your reclamation of his insult. “You are son and partial heir to the largest merchant shipping company in the Caribbean. You have no want for riches, or women. Piracy is a hanging crime. Why do it?”

He opened one eye curiously. “Who says I have no want for women?”

Your face flushed. “I–” you started, swallowing. “Thor mentioned it.”

Both eyes opened and his wide grin returned. “Did he?” He asked, rising slowly to his feet and taking a lazy, predatory step towards you. “What did he tell you?” 

You took two steps backwards, staring up at him with wide-eyes, trying to find your words and your footing at the same time. “I– he said that you, well, you had a reputation–”

“For what, exactly?” Loki smirked, enjoying the sight of your cheeks turn ten different shades of red in a matter of seconds.

“For– for wooing women,” you said, feeling incredibly cornered despite his nonchalant approach. Your back hit one of the bedposts and your fingers wrapped around the ornately carved wood like an anchor. “That you– that you could bed whoever you liked on a whim.”

Loki’s blue-green gaze flitted from you, to the bed behind you, and his eyes darkened. A terrible shiver went down your spine. Was he picturing you there, lying with limbs spread and skin bare for him to claim as his own?

His low, smooth voice pulled you back to reality. “Only those who wanted to be bedded, little one,” he murmured through a smirk. “Where do your find yourself in that perspective, I wonder?” He stepped away without waiting for your reply and leaned against the desk, drumming his fingers on the wood. “Odin means to rule these seas. I merely mean to provide him with some competition.” 

You took a measured breath and collected yourself, loosening your iron grip on the bedpost. “What, leveraging yourself towards being the favorite child?” You asked, but the attempt at a mocking tone died in your throat and your voice quavered.

Loki’s eyes darkened again – no, they _saddened_. The rest of his face was hiding it well behind a mask of nonchalance, but his sea-green eyes gave away some deep and remorseful tone. Why on earth did he look that way?

You opened your mouth to ask him, but the look was there and gone in a blink. Loki stood, pushing in the chair and pushing up his sleeves. “I have my crew to attend to. Don’t leave this room.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Why not?” You protested, as he opened the door and stepped through.

“There are clothes in the dresser,” he called, ignoring your question, before the heavy door shut behind him, leaving you alone.

You felt a rise of rebellion swell in your chest and you let it stew angrily for a moment, glaring daggers at the wooden door. You hadn’t counted on Loki to help you, per se, but you certainly hadn’t expected him to be your captor.

You sat down on the edge of the bed and stewed. Minutes passed. Your hands played with the strings of your dress while you considered your thoughts. Loki was a pirate. You were on a _pirate ship_. God only knew where it was headed, but certainly not to Europe. And on top of all that, you still needed a way out of your arranged marriage.

It might not have been the adventure you’d imagined, but your life was turning out to be an interesting saga nonetheless. 

“Clothes,” you repeated quietly, and looked down at your dress. The fabric was torn and dirty, practically in strips at some parts. You pulled at the frayed material, watching as it came away easily from the rest of the dress. Obviously the dress hadn’t been made to run around in, merely to look pretty. 

The dresser in the corner of the room, next to a standing mirror, revealed a wide array of pants, stockings and bishop-sleeved shirts that Loki was prone to wearing. You weren’t one to turn down the opportunity to wear trousers, but the man had legs for days. You doubted you could roll them up high enough to prevent tripping over the bottoms.

You shuffled through the coat hangers, running your hands along the fabric of the occasional shirt. The whole dresser smelled like Loki. You pulled one of the wide sleeves out and inhaled the smell of sea salt and rose, letting your eyelids flutter closed for a moment. What would it be like to be surrounded by that smell – more specifically, by its wearer? 

Your face flushed and you shut the cabinet doors with a slam. _No. Absolutely not_. You really had to get a hold of yourself. Just because Loki permeated your dreams with his seductive whispers and skilled hands did not mean that he was even remotely interested in you in reality.

Besides, you were _engaged. _To his _brother. _

You cleared your throat pushed your hair back in a practiced motion of composure and ventured to open up the top drawer. 

Oddly, nothing.

You stared at the thin film of dust covering the bottom of the drawer and frowned. The cabinets had been brimming with clothes– why would this drawer be empty? You reached down and pryed your fingers around the edges of the base. The wood panel came loose.

You eyes widened and you made a little triumphant noise under your breath, pulling it up to peer at what had been hidden beneath the false bottom.

A letter. The parchment was yellowed with age and torn in some pages, and the broken crimson wax of the seal was peeling and cracking away. Whatever the document was, it was written more than a decade ago, maybe even two. If this room was a hiding place for pieces of Loki’s puzzle, then the parchment was undoubtedly a crucial piece. 

Your curiosity piqued, and you reached down to take the paper. If only you could understand what bubbled below the calm surface of him, maybe you could–

The door opened.

In one fell swoop you whirled around, dropping the wooden panel back into place and shutting the drawer with a BANG, staring wide-eyed at Loki, who returned your expression with a more bemused look. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the room slowly, his hand trailing on the doorknob before it fell and the door swung shut.

You cleared your throat and shook your head, hoping that your face wouldn’t give you away. “No, I was– I was looking for a dress.” 

“Well, there’s no need to look so guilty about it,” Loki chided, coming over and reaching around you, pulling open the bottom drawer and revealing a neatly folded dress, the same color as the broken seal. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, and pulled it out to observe. The fabric was matte and smooth, without the usual sheen of finer satins and silks, but it wasn’t coarse to touch. The neck was a low, wide scoop, with elbow-length sleeves and a flat skirt. No crinoline slip.

“You’ll need help, I assume.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Loki’s hand brushed over yours when he took the red fabric in his hands and flipped it over to show you the backside – a typical lace-up. 

The thought of Loki’s fingers brushing against your back made you shiver and you shook your head stubbornly. “No, I can do it myself.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You took the dress back. “I’ll be fine.”

Loki’s eyes flickered over you in amusement, and his thin lips twisted upwards. “I’ll wait outside for your call.”

“There won’t _be_ one!” You said, as he shut the door behind him. 

Curse him for being so thoughtful.

You forced yourself to abandon the thought of the letter from your mind. If Loki knew that you would need help with the lacing, he had a good estimation of how long it took to put on a dress.

Then again, who said you had to read it right this minute? 

You opened the first drawer once more – carefully, so the wood didn’t creak – and lifted the panel, snatching the parchment from its hiding spot. You disrobed swiftly from your tattered dress, and then your chemise. You folded the chemise neatly and hid the letter within the fabric, setting it in the drawer before closing it again.

The dress slid on easily. You slipped your arms through the sleeves, reaching backwards and finding the lace strings that tied the back, and pulled. Immediately they cinched around your waist, but you could feel how terribly loose the strings were further up your back – where, despite your stretching and grasping, your fingers couldn’t reach.

“_Damn_,” you swore quietly. You had wanted to be able to do it yourself– the thought of Loki’s hands brushing the skin of your back was only too alluring, and therefore necessary to avoid, but it didn’t seem like you had much choice in the matter: a recently recurring theme in your life these days.

As if on cue, the door opened again. You didn’t have time to turn around and greet him – the door closed, and then you felt Loki’s fingers take the strings from your hands and begin tightening the back.

“Why you would wear these voluntarily is beyond me,” he murmured. It couldn’t have been on purpose, but the low, slightly gravelly tone in his voice made it sound as though he would prefer you naked. Even though you knew it wasn’t the case, the thought sent a cool shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the warmth of his breath down your back and the occasional grazing of his knuckles on your skin by staring intensely at the wooden floorboards.

“Well, the key word is _voluntarily_.”

“Why didn’t you choose trousers, then?”

“I–” you paused, considering it. “I didn’t think it was an option.”

“I didn’t think you were one to follow the rules,” he said mildly, tying off the dress and placing one large hand on your shoulder, reaching around with the other to tilt your chin up so that you could see your reflection in the standing mirror.

_Oh._

You weren’t sure you recognized the girl staring back at you – her hair undone and face clean of cosmetics, wearing a subtly scandalous dress. It was different from the reflection you were used to – the one you were so often unhappy with. 

The scooping neckline barely clung to your shoulders and dipped scandalously low to your chest. The middle was cinched just enough to follow the curve of your waist before flaring out to the skirt. Unlike every other garment you’d worn, there was no slip beneath, and the fabric simply hung instead of flaring out. It complemented you.

Your eyes travelled upwards, past long legs and a slim torso, to where Loki stood behind you, his hand on your shoulder and fingers still hovering below your chin. His seaglass eyes were trailing over your body beneath the dress, drinking you in slowly until they met yours in the mirror.

You watched your face flush and you quickly turned around, clearing your throat. “I’d like to go up now.” 

Loki’s eyebrows pulled together momentarily and he shook his head once. “No.” He took a backwards step and raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You think I would let you roam around on the deck and distract my men? I gave them specific orders not to bother you, remember?”

Your jaw dropped in indignation. “It’s _your_ dress!”

“Oh, but it might as well have been made for you,” he countered, giving you another unabashed look up and down. His lips quirked in a quieted expression and he sighed ruefully. “If only my brother could see you.”

Was that … regret in his voice?

“Besides,” he continued, “I have no time to look after you.”

You sucked in your cheeks and stared at him for a moment, narrowing your eyes. He gazed back. It was so odd to think that you were looking at a pirate – and a frustratingly handsome one at that. If he had half of an idea what you’d imagined about him… 

Never mind. Pirate or not, you weren’t going to let him get in the way of your adventure. 

“Well,” you quipped, “ then its’ a good thing I don’t need looking after.” You moved past him before he could react – pulling open the door, picking up your dress and running up the steps to the deck. 

You heard Loki shout your name behind you, but as soon as your feet landed on the boards above, you forgot about him entirely.

The ship and its crew were something out of a storybook. Characters you couldn’t dream up – men with tattoos, piercings and missing limbs – were all working together, laughing together in unison. Mismatched as they were, they all fit. The white sails of the ship billowed in the warm wind, propelling you ever onward. You turned in a slow circle, trailing the cyan blue horizon the whole way round till you came back to the front, and you were facing Loki. A particularly exasperated Loki.

“Had your fill?” He asked in a low tone, offering his hand with a thin smile. “If you would be so kind as to let me escort you back.” His words were honey-coated like a fly trap.

You glanced at his hand and bit back a laugh. He thought he could trap you with social niceties, out here in the middle of the sea? You were on a pirate ship, for heaven’s sake. No one cared about formalities here – you least of all. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” You smirked, and stepped past him again. You laughed at the spluttering sound that escaped his lips, quickening your steps when you heard him chasing after you. The three-masted ship was brimming with cargo and difficult to maneuver across, and you picked up your skirts to keep from tripping over yourself. The crew paid you no notice – not when you ducked between them, or wove in and out of the crates and barrels to escape their captain.

You ran around the main mast and peeked out one side at Loki, who stood with his hands on his hips and his raven hair falling into his face, which was unusually flushed.

“This is absurd,” he snapped. “Come _here_.”

You grinned. “No.” 

“You’re being a child.”

“I’m enjoying the fresh air,” you corrected. “And being rather inconveniently chased around. This dress isn’t easy to run in, you know.” 

You watched his face go through several expressions of frustration before he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Alright, let’s make a deal.” 

Your heart fluttered a bit and you shoved it back down. “Okay.”

Loki ran his long fingers through his raven hair, pushing it back into place – save for the one unruly strand that always fell forward, his signature look. “You can roam wherever you like,” he started, stepping towards you and lowering his voice for emphasis, “but only if you _follow the rules_. Any sign of trouble and you return to your cabin.” He counted the instructions out on his long fingers. “No talking to the crew. You stay out of the way. And don’t even _think_ about climbing the ropes–” 

You stopped him by grabbing his wrist and laughing, quickly drawing an ‘X’ over your heart with your free hand. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm really enjoying the response this has received and all of your comments as you go along. Keep on, dudes!


	6. VI

You took your time to wander up and down the deck, weaving in between sailors and making sure not trip over the loose cargo. At least half the crew were busy storing the new crates and barrels – the crates and barrels from your old ship, which was burning somewhere in the distance. As grateful as you were not to be headed for Europe, you still felt a mite of guilt over the fates of the crew members. You hoped they would survive.

After a few minutes, you found a place to sit on the steps of the quarterdeck. You set your elbows on your knees and watched idly. You’d never had the chance to watch a crew work before, and there was clearly a great deal involved. Loki wasn’t difficult to spot– his melodic voice carried over the wind as he shouted orders, rolling up his billowing sleeves. He caught sight of one of the younger crewmen struggling to tie a line and ran over, taking the rope in his hands. The muscles below his shirt strained as he helped him pull it back and tie it secure, knotting the rope so skillfully that your eyes could barely follow. 

All you had to do was watch, and a little more of him was revealed to you at every turn. The boy said something, and Loki grinned, elbowing him in the side before cupping his hands around his mouth and calling up to the crow’s nest, but the wind carried away the response.

Loki dropped his hands and his gaze fell, meeting with yours. His skin was flushed in a way you hadn’t seen before, and you realized that he was_ alive_ out here, with planks beneath his feet and the sea at his every turn. Pirate or not, the ocean was in his blood.

You stared a moment too long and your cheeks heated. You quickly dropped your eyes and found something to distract yourself with – the engagement band on your finger – spinning it idly and observing the crimson gem, red as a drop of blood. You thought back to the way he’d looked at you in the mirror’s reflection, how his eyes had raked in the sight of you with a hungry expression.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered to yourself. Just because you were having such trouble coming to terms with your attraction to him – attraction to anyone, for that matter – did not mean he felt the same. It was almost certainly not mutual. There was no point in entertaining it.

The heart-shaped garnet glinted in the sunlight. If Loki didn’t return you to his brother, Thor wouldn’t be notified of your disappearance for at least a month. For all he knew, you were safely on your way to your new home, and most certainly not aboard Loki’s pirate ship, headed for Heaven knew where.

Would Thor believe you if you told him that Loki was a pirate? Did he already know? 

_No, that wouldn’t make sense, _you reasoned. Thor was being groomed to overtake his father’s company any day now. If Loki was half as intelligent and wily as you knew him to be, he would never let Thor in on his secret. There was a pile of unanswered questions in the back of your mind, about Loki, and his scheme. You would have to ask him tonight.

The sound of approaching footsteps alerted you and pulled you from your thoughts. You dropped your hands into your lap and looked up to find the first mate: a man with rosy cheeks and hair the color of iron, worn long and pulled back. His beard was also kept braided and clasped with small bands of silver metal. He was broad-shouldered and wide, wearing a sleeveless tunic. 

His brown eyes glanced down at the ring on your finger and he nodded. “Who d’you belong to?” 

The abruptness of his question made you bristle. “No one.”

The first mate chuckled dryly and rolled his eyes. “You know wha’ I meant.” His accent was coarse and unfamiliar to you. 

You shrugged your shoulders, clearing your throat. “It’s, um… my fiance’s. I barely know him.” You were reluctant to reveal Thor’s name – you had no clue as to whether or not the crew was aware of Loki’s heritage. 

“Is he rich?” 

“Very.” 

The first mate nodded, raising an eyebrow. “Well, tha’s better news for us. More payoff for your ransom.” 

You scrutinized him with narrowed eyes for a moment, remembering Loki’s conditions. You weren’t supposed to talk to the crew, but this man had started it, after all. There couldn’t be much harm in it, could there? 

“Where are you from?” You asked finally, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear to prevent it from being pulled into your face by the wind.

“Skudeneshavn. Same as the Captain, but born and raised there. Volstagg,” he introduced himself, smiling. 

The expression seemed natural to his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back, if only for a brief moment. “Well,” you said slowly. “I can’t say I’m glad to make your acquaintance, but you seem kind enough.” 

He chuckled. “Aye. I don’t blame you. You don’ seem like one to mix with pirates.”

_You’d be surprised_, you thought dryly.

“The Captain takes good care of us,” Volstagg continued. His brown eyes flitted over the deck, and he seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, like he was puzzling over something.

Your curiosity poked at you and you relented. “What is it?” 

He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “Jus’ trying to work you out.” He looked back at you, and his brown eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart lass. Didn’ tell me nothing I didn’ already know. But …” he trailed off again.

You raised your eyebrows. “But…?” You prompted.

“The Captain’s generous. Not unreasonable,” he says, and there’s an odd look in his eyes as he surveys you up and down. “So when he says something is ‘off-limits’ – he don’t say it often, an’ never about captives – that usually means he wants it all for himself.” 

Your breath caught and your eyes darted quickly to find Loki, leaning over the railing, his dark hair curling in the wind. You heard Volstagg’s voice like a distant echo.

“I didn’ mean to trouble you, I’ll leave you be.”

“It’s fine,” you said distractedly, staring at him as his gaze flitted across the water. Toned shoulders beneath white fabric, elegant fingers wrapped around the wood, a jaw you could cut your finger on. Every curling strand of dark hair, the particular curves of his nose and brow, his poet’s mouth curved upwards and pressed together in thought … by now, you had practically memorized him from the outside. 

It was the inside you were no longer so sure about. 

~ 

The ocean was turning vermillion in the light of the setting sun. As it met the horizon, the waves reflected bright yellow and red hues – a brief moment where the ocean set fire, before descending into twilight.

You stared out, tapping your fingers idly on the railing, and stifled a yawn against the back of your hand. 

“Fancy the water?” Loki asked, appearing beside you so suddenly that you started. If he noticed, he said nothing – only turned his eyes to the sun. The bright oranges reflected in his sea-colored eyes, tiny oceans of their own. “It’s warmest this time of year.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t swim.” 

“Really?” Loki raised a dark eyebrow and regarded you speculatively. “That was something you neglected to mention the night we met.” 

An unexpected laugh escaped your lips. “Walking along the beach and wading in the shallows is hardly swimming.”

He chuckled and nodded, tucking his hair back. “Fair enough.”

You realized that, at the sound of your laugh, several heads turned towards the two of you in surprise. Your eyes locked momentarily with Volstagg’s. You turned back to the railing and swallowed. “Actually, I was hoping to retire soon.” 

“I won’t keep you. Go to bed,” He assured you.

You frowned. Somehow you had thought you would be sleeping somewhere other than his quarters. The sudden thought of sharing the same bed as him brought a tinge to your cheeks. “What about you?”

Loki merely shook his head. “The ship needs its Captain regardless of the hour. I’ll sleep with my crew. Go on.”

You didn’t need any further telling. You picked up the red fabric of your dress and crossed the deck, ducking your head as you headed below and opening up the door to the Captain’s cabin.

Once the door closed, all the sounds from above dimmed. You hadn’t realized how noisy it was up there: the waves, the crewmen, the pounding of boots on wooden planks. Silence was, for the first time, a welcome companion. 

You reached for the strings of your dress and pulled the knot loose, pulling at the ribbon and wiggling out of it with some difficulty. At least you hadn’t needed Loki’s help this time. You quickly opened up the wardrobe drawer and pulled out your white chemise, slipping it over your head – and as you did, the letter hidden between the folds fell out and dropped between your feet.

In the excitement of the day, you’d forgotten all about it. You knelt down to pick it up and cast a wary glance towards the door.

Loki had said he wouldn’t be coming in. You doubted you would get a chance like this again. 

You put the red dress away and took one of the candles to the bedside table it for better light and sat down on the edge of the bed. Your fingers were shaking slightly as you unfolded the parchment – it was so old, you feared it might turn to dust in your hands – and cautiously, you began to read.

Dated in January of 1665. No wonder it was so faded– the document was well over twenty years old.

_  
Dearest Frigga,_

_I hope that you and our son are well. We have reached our destination now and have begun to do business here. The weather is fair despite the winter, and I expect that you and Thor will be taking the journey soon, too. In my eyes there would be no better place to live. _

_I am writing to you now to tell you the manner of what has happened on our maiden voyage to the Caribbean. Twas a journey that, until the near end, proved easier than anticipated. We encountered a pirate ship off the coast of the British Virgin Isles. Rest assured knowing that their attempt to plunder and sink our ship failed, and that we successfully defeated this unlawful enemy. Their Captain, Charles Vane – a gruesome man, I will not tell you of him further – has been taken into custody to be Hanged. There was a matter of what we found aboard the ship, however, that I perceive might interest you. I hope you do not find these details too gruesome._

_Many of the pirates aboard the ship died fighting, but there was one that perished in defense of a certain precious cargo. Had I not discovered for myself what was_

You didn’t hear the door open. You were so immersed, in fact, that only Loki’s voice drew you out._  
_

“What the _bloody hell_ are you doing?” He asked slowly, standing in the doorway. 

The blood drained from your face as the letter fell from your hands and onto the bed. You stood quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t–” Your heart leapt into your throat as Loki let the door shut loudly behind him and crossed the floor towards you with graceful menace.

“Didn’t _what_?” He interrupted. His low voice dropped even lower, gravelly and deadly serious. Under other circumstances that tone might make you melt, but now it only froze you solid. 

The cogs of your mind were jammed in place. It took every ounce of will to force your mouth to speak. “I – I didn’t think you were coming back down,” you breathed. Your voice sounded pitifully tremulous, but you continued. “It was private, I know, I’m … I’m sorry.” 

“And yet you looked anyway.” Loki’s eyes were dark with fury. You could feel his breath on your skin, raising goosebumps as his eyes stayed fixed with yours. You could have sworn your heart had stopped beating while you waited for him to move, to blink, to cast you overboard, _something. _

Finally Loki turned away and sighed. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” He broke your gaze and turned to pick up the letter, with a measure of caution, like it might bite him. He folded it back in three and walked over to the desk chair, pulling on the jacket hanging there – presumably what he must have come down for – and made for the door, sliding the letter into his inner pocket. 

You felt like you were dreaming. He hadn’t done so much as raised his voice at you, and now he was going to leave again? You had escaped a grievous sin entirely unscathed. By all rights, you should be swimming in the Caribbean by now. 

You weren’t sure if it was his odd reaction, or your attraction to him, or something entirely unknown, but you found a rise of undeserved courage in your veins and called out to him right before his hand turned the knob. 

“But satisfaction brought it back.” 

Loki stilled at your words. A chuckle escaped his lips. “So it did,” He agreed, looking up and narrowing his eyes at you, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He tilted his head. “And did you get your satisfaction?”

“No,” you admitted, and smiled in spite of yourself. “I was interrupted before it got interesting.”

Loki’s seaglass eyes flickered. “I see.” He opened up the door, and gave you one final look – the closest he’d come to a reprimanding expression thus far. “Go to bed,” he ordered. “If none of my other personal affairs have been pried into when I return tomorrow morning, I might just let you finish it.”

~

Loki closed the door, cutting off the candlelight and leaving him standing in the dark. The sun had set and now blue moonlight filtered through the metal bars of the brig, cascading down the steps to the deck above. 

Loki stood silent and still for a moment before reaching slowly to withdraw the letter from his jacket pocket, but he didn’t open it. Why read something he already knew by heart? 

He sighed noisily and put it back. By all rights, he should have been angry with you. Fuming, in fact. If any other captive had possessed the audacity to rifle through his personal documents he would have promptly cast them overboard. No ransom was worth another person knowing his secrets. Dead men told no tales, after all. 

So why did he toy so blatantly with the idea of _you_ knowing his?

Loki ran his hand back through his hair with a frustrated look and went up, striding down the deck while his crew worked ever diligently. He had chosen them all by hand, and thus far they’d never failed him. They also didn’t know who he was– only the rumors of who he could be. For superstitious pirates, that was more than enough.

“Cap’n!” One of his men called from above. Loki looked up, setting a hand on the ropes. “Yes?” 

“There’s a great wind from the east, sir, coming up fast.” 

Loki pondered over this for half a moment before putting both hands on the ropes and pulling himself upward, ascending to the lookout perch with surprising agility. He lifted himself over the banister, standing on the wooden frame and keeping hold of the rope for balance. He took the lantern from its peg and held it out, staring out towards the black abyss of sea and sky. His lookout’s eye had been true: storm clouds, billowing like sails and dark with stormy intent.

Loki set the lantern back on its peg and turned to the sailor. “How far, do you think?”

The man shook his head. “Two days if it chases. It’ll throw us off course a good deal whether or not we escape.”

Loki nodded. “Good man. I’ll send Thomas up on the hour.” He took the ropes in his hands again and descended, dropping onto the deck light-footed. “Volstagg!” 

The first mate appeared from belowdecks with a barrel under his arm. “Aye?” 

“Bring a spring upon her cable, please.” 

“Aye, Captain, sir.” 

Loki turned away and walked to the banister, setting his elbows on the frame. A fresh bout of wind whipped at his hair, pulling it out from behind his ears and teasing it into elf-knots, while the waxing moon hung low in the sky in front of a starry curtain.

He thumbed over his lip in thought. Threat of a storm aside, you were getting under his skin, and he didn’t care for it. 

Not because of your connection to Thor– he had never cared about that, and had only ever tugged at those strings because he knew it gave _you _a measure of cognitive disquiet. Everything he did and said to you was meant to make you squirm for his amusement. Enjoying the sight of heat rising to your face as you attempted to shield yourself behind practiced niceties was admittedly one of his less desirable traits, but he couldn’t help it. You were so _easy_ to tease.

The puzzling thing was, you weren’t supposed to be here. He had signed off any further thought of you when you left for Europe. Loki had pitied you, yes. But he had never intended to save you from a fate that – as far as he was concerned – you could escape yourself.

Only, here you were. Be it fate, or ill chance, or your own luck, you were at his mercy again, and he was beginning to enjoy your genuine laughter more than your flustered discomfort. Loki’s eyes roamed for their own desire, rather than to make you squirm. The thought of the women who walked the docks and existed to serve his every need no longer satiated his desires. Instead his mind roamed to the thought of _you_, running wild on _his _ship, sleeping in _his _bed, and twisting _his _heart into frustrated knots – none of which were ever supposed to have happened. 

Loki let out a frustrated growl and tightened his jaw, shaking his head. Fate, as usual, was playing games with him, and Loki was not easily played. Another gust of wind hit his face, and the lanterns on deck flickered.

It would be a long night. 


	7. VII

Loki’s breath was hot on your skin. His lips hovered over the pulse point of your neck, murmuring low and ragged praises as he pressed kisses there, grazing your flesh with his teeth. The scent of leather and him was everywhere, intoxicating you with every inhale. Shivers travelled down your spine as his hands roamed freely, brushing against your hair and running down your back, holding you against him. His hips moved, slowly, rhythmically, building, carrying you higher and higher until —

You sat up and brushed your hair away from your flushed face, setting your palm against the skin above your hammering heartbeat. The bright patch of sunlight coming through the small windowpane shone directly on your eyes and you reached up to shield them, brushing sand from the corners of your eyes as you sat up and looked around, trying to remember where you were. Your eyes caught sight of the ornate rug on the floor, the desk, the dresser – ah, yes. The pirate ship. Captained by the man you couldn’t stop dreaming about. You could still hear the echoes of his gravelly tone in your ears, whispering things you wouldn’t dare repeat in the light of day. Or at any time of day, for that matter.

You yawned and reached up to stretch your arms. The other side of the bed was undisturbed – Loki hadn’t come down to sleep last night. The guilt-ridden part of you, coursing with lingering desire, sorely wished he had. 

Even if you had no intention of marrying your fiancé, it was still a matter of principle. Besides, you were nowhere close to escaping your engagement… yet.

You threw your legs over the side and stood, walking over to the dresser with slow steps and opening the doors, staring at the contents blankly. These weren’t dresses– _right_, the dress was in the bottom drawer. Clearly you weren’t awake yet.

You moved to close the cabinet doors, and then paused. Why not try the trousers? You didn’t feel like calling for help to shimmy into the dress again, and besides, it would probably be more freeing.

You hesitantly reached for a tan-colored pair and held them out. They fell all the way to the floor and then some, folding over themselves. You’d be lying if you hadn’t noticed that Loki had legs for days, but their length was almost obscene.

Still, no harm in trying. 

You slid them on underneath your chemise – they fit well, save for the ridiculous length – and you sat down on the edge of the bed in order to roll up the cuffs. After getting them past your ankles, you stood and abandoned your chemise, heading for the dresser once more to retrieve a shirt. This whole process was very foreign to you. You took one of the black bishop sleeves and slid it on, and turned to stare at yourself in the mirror.

“Oh, _Lord_,” you said, reaching immediately for the loose strings and tightening them. Unless you wanted the whole crew to ogle at your chest, you needed to lessen the length of the V-neck a considerable amount.

After tying it off – with a double-knot, just in case – you looked up to examine yourself in the mirror again. Your hair hung messy and loose around your shoulders, but the outfit itself was surprisingly flattering. You turned to look at the backside and smirked, feeling a little giddy. Not bad there, either.

You quickly smoothed back the baby hairs stuck to your face and made sure nothing else was generally out of place before heading towards the door and reaching for your shoes. As you knelt down to slip them on, a muted sound outside the door gave you pause.

Singing. 

You slid into your shoes and opened the door, heading up the wooden stairs. A gale of wind hit your face at the same time as the voices became clear, and you could hear the words to the shanty: 

_When I was a little boy, so my mother told me,_

_Way, haul a-way, we’ll haul, away, Joe!_

You scanned the deck. Those whose feet were planted on the deck stomped their boots in rhythm, while the men clinging to the ropes and handling the sails belted out the words. Your eyes caught sight of Loki in the middle of it all, balanced high above the deck, the sail rope held taut in his hands. His bright, seaglass eyes flickered down and saw you peering upwards, and a wolfish grin lit up on his face– not unlike the one you’d seen the night you first met –as the sailors took their turns singing lines before joining together in the chorus.

_that if I didn’t kiss the girls, my lips would grow all moldy,_

_Way, haul a-way, we’ll haul, away, together!_

_Way, haul-away, we’ll haul, away, Joe! _

A smile was growing on your face despite yourself. Even though you didn’t know the words, you wanted to join in; the crew was obviously having _fun_.

Your train of thought was interrupted when one of the pirates on deck spotted you and ran over, linking his elbow through yours and spinning you onto the deck while singing the next bit. 

“_Once I ‘ad, an English girl, she was slow an’ Lazy_–” He let you go and you shrieked as you flew out, only to be caught by Volstagg, who laughed and took you in his arms for the next line, his dark eyes twinkling. 

“_Now I ‘ave an Irish girl, she damn near drives me crazy_!” He sang, letting go of your hand and bowing exaggeratedly low. The rest of the crew sang, 

_Way, haul a-way, we’ll haul, away, together! Way, haul-away, we’ll haul, away, Joe! _

You laughed, holding a hand to your stomach as you caught your breath, and managed a small curtsy. As the crew finished their shanty, the ghost of a hand pressed against your back.

“Good morning,” Loki drawled, his tone more sultry and low than you’d expected. You were suddenly reminded of the obscene things that your dream-version of him had whispered in your ear, and it took every ounce of resolve not to pitch yourself overboard. Why was his existence such torture? 

You forced a smile and looked around, trying to avoid his eyes, knowing for a fact that they were fixed on you. “This is quite the spectacle.”

Loki chuckled and his hand left your back. You let out an unintentional breath. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, stepping away and untying one of the fastening ropes. One of the crew ran over and took it, and Loki stepped back again, raising a dark eyebrow at you. “This is a stark contrast to your elegant ballroom parties.” 

You laughed once and nodded. “Yes, but I think I prefer this. The singing, the dancing…”

“You mean ‘wild careening?’” He asked. His sea-green eyes had a different tone in them today. They were softer, almost fond as he regarded you for a moment, before he put his finger and thumb to his mouth and whistled sharply.

The singing stopped, and the pirates looked to him for directions. Without pulling his gaze from you, Loki called, “Lads, pick it up. Your fiddle, if you would, Thomas–” and he held his hand out to you with a strange and wily smirk. “ –Our little debutante wants to dance.”

A cheer went up and your eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t know–” you began.

“ – I do,” Loki interrupted, his eyes twinkling wickedly. You hesitated for a moment longer before taking his hand and allowing him to draw you close. His other hand slid down to your waist and he leaned down, his lips near your ear.“Come now, don’t be shy,” he said, an octave lower, with an audible smile. “Whatever the lady wants, she shall have.” The sinful rasp of his tone insinuated more than just dancing, but you quickly brushed away the thought, hoping that you could blame the harsh wind for the color of your cheeks. 

One of the men – Thomas – came up from the brig and leaped onto a crate with a fiddle and bow in hand, stomping his foot to establish a beat. The rest of the sailors on deck quickly follow suit, clapping their hands and shouting. Your face flushed even deeper when Loki pulled you away from the rails and towards the center of the deck. 

Thomas’s bow lit the strings with a long, slow note, before racing upwards to the beat in a high melody. Someone whistled, and your head turned to look – but Loki’s hand caught your chin and directed your gaze back to him. His eyes gazed deep into yours. “Ignore them,” he said lowly, thumbing unconsciously over your lip before dropping his hand back to your waist. “Focus on me.” 

You nodded. Your heartbeat rose in your chest in anticipation, and without warning, he took off. The fiddler sawed on the instrument with a wide and wild smile while the other pirates shouted, laughed, and a few linked elbows with each other in mock dances of their own. 

This was the exact opposite of the first time you’d danced with Loki. Where you’d felt uncomfortable, stiff and confined to the limitations of societal expectation, here you were free. The wind whipped at your hair and blew it in your face, but you didn’t have time to push it away– Loki spun you so fast, letting you unravel from his arms and pulling you back in again, that all you could do was laugh and hold on. 

“Aye, show ‘er how it’s done, Cap’n!” Volstagg laughed, clapping his hands. The man beside him put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Evidently they enjoyed the sight of their Captain at play as much as you enjoyed being in his arms.

Loki was quick-footed, chuckling when you nearly lost your balance and he caught you against his chest, somehow turning it into part of the dance. His slid his hands down to your waist and lifted you up. You shrieked, clinging first to his wrists and then to his shoulders, but his strong arms were unfailing as he brought you back down and right back into the stride of the song. 

The wind blew right through your shirt, but Loki’s large hands were warm, and he kept you moving too fast to feel the cold. A few more spins, lifts, and another outwards turn, before he brought you in for an unexpected twist and let you fall backwards in a dip. 

The fiddling tune came to a flourish and ended. Cheers went up. Loki’s chest heaved and he grinned, catching his breath and holding you close. You could smell the leather and rose, staring up at his flushed face. His raven hair fell in windblown curls past his ears, brushing against your face, and you laughed as you pushed them away. 

A strong gust of wind hit the deck and chilled you through your clothes,. Loki pulled you up. His hands left your arms and his face sobered up in a moment, a changing of the guards from a smiling man to a solemn one. 

“Keep at the storm sails, gents,” he ordered, nodding to Volstagg, who returned the gesture. The men dispersed gradually. Those who wore hats held onto them as they ascended the ropes, catching hold of the sails as they rippled in the wind and continuing the work of untying them. 

“Go on below, I’ll bring you breakfast,” Loki said distractedly, his eyes fixed on the storm clouds looming over the horizon. They didn’t seem any closer than last night: only darker, more ominous.

Your heart fell and you reached out to hold his sleeve. “Can’t I say on the deck?”

He shook his head. His eyes flitted down to you for barely a moment. “No. There’s too much to do and no time to lose. I’ll be down to see you, I promise,” he added, reaching for your hand on his arm and squeezing it as a gesture of reassurance. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you nodded, dropping your gaze and retracting your hand. “Alright.”

You turned and made for the stairs, setting your hand to the wooden railing and quickly stepping aside when one of the sailors came past you. You were nearly out of sight when you heard Loki’s voice call your name, and you looked back. “Yes?” You called.

He stood on the deck, black shirt billowing in the wind, and his lips turned upwards in a smirk. “The trousers suit you.” 

~

You had occupied yourself for the better part of an hour in Loki’s cabin – running your fingers over the spines of the books kept there, most of which didn’t interest you. You did find one called _Star Uranometria: Containing Charts of All the Constellations_, and had decided to give it a try. The contents turned out to be more interesting than you’d expected: there were finely inked illustrations on every other page, detailing the patterns between each star and the stories they told.

You were studying _Ursa Minor_ when there was a rap on the door and you looked up from the page. Loki entered the room and tossed you something – you reached up quickly and caught it before it hit the bed.

“There’s stew, but I figured you might enjoy something more suited to your tastes,” He said, walking over to the desk and pulling out the chair. You looked down at the object in your hands – an orange – and pressed it to your nose to smell the sweet citrus, before your eyes flitted to Loki. He pulled an envelope from one of the desk drawers and took out the contents, setting his elbows on the desk as he pored over the yellowed pages. One of his hands went up to rub his face – he seemed tired, suddenly, from the way his shoulders pinched to how his fingers raked a little _too_ harshly through his hair.

You glanced at the book and made a mental note of your spot before closing it, standing up and passing the orange between your hands. “What is it?” You asked, venturing cautiously over to the desk. 

He didn’t look up and spoke into his palm. “Nothing that would interest you, I’m afraid.” His eyes close and he lets out a sigh. His eyelashes, dark and long, were still against his cheeks. Had he not spoken only a moment ago, you might’ve thought he was asleep. 

You gently pushed the envelope aside to make space and lifted yourself up onto the desk. You pushed your hair over one shoulder, looking down at him and tossing the orange lightly. “Try me.” 

Loki’s eyes opened and he glanced at you, a ghost of a smile passing over his lips. He sighed and sat back in the chair, regarding you as he spread his legs and ran his finger over his lips. The way he was sitting shouldn’t have distracted you, but it _did_, and you did your best not to look anywhere but his face.

“The storm troubles me,” he says finally, and pushes the papers towards you – at a glance you determined them to be almanacs. “It’s unusual for any storms to pass through these waters in July, much less a hurricane. These things_ do _happen, but nevertheless…” 

You pressed your lips together and broke the skin of the orange with your fingernail. “You said something earlier,” you recall, looking down as you begin to peel it carefully. “About the sails.”

“It takes nearly a full day to take down the regular sheets and put up the storm sails,” Loki nods. “I would rather have it done sooner than later, even if it means we sit idly in the water while the storm heads our way.”

This news wasn’t exactly comforting, and you felt a twinge of anxiety in your chest. “But you _have _sailed through a storm before, haven’t you?”

“Once.” Loki’s eyes narrowed and he raised his eyebrows, recalling the memory. “Thor and I piloted the vessel through the Mona Passage, in late October some years ago. Say what you will about my brother, he is a skilled sailor.” Loki’s long fingers drummed idly on the desk, picking up the sheets of paper and setting them down again, smoothing out their wrinkles.

_He’s nervous_, you realized. 

You wanted to comfort him somehow – to sit in his lap and brush his hair back, trace your fingers over the curve of his jaw and murmur praises and reassurances – but that was completely out of the question, so you finished peeling your orange in silence and offered him a slice instead.

Loki’s eyes flickered up and he hummed through his nose, taking it, but not before his fingers brushed against yours. A passing touch that sent a spark of electricity through your nerves. You watched silently as he popped the piece of fruit in his mouth and then blushed when he made an infuriating point to lick his fingers clean of the juice dripping from his fingers. You quickly turned away, hoping your loose hair would hide your face. Damn him, why couldn’t he just wipe his hands on his trousers like an uncivilized man?

“I’ve lingered too long,” he said finally, rousing himself and standing to his full height. He pushed his chair in and, after straightening the papers and sliding them back into the envelope, made for the door.

You suddenly remembered the letter and caught him before he reached for his coat. “Will you leave the letter here?”

Loki froze, and then chuckled as he pulled on his coat. “Why would I do that, little one?” He asked, a tad darkly. 

You blinked, and then shrugged. “There are only so many books in your collection that won’t put me to sleep.” You slid off the desk and raised your eyebrow playfully. “I want a more interesting read.” 

He watched silently as you meandered over with something akin to amusement on his face. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for the full account?”

Your footsteps faltered and you stopped, frowning. “What do you mean?” 

“I have my crew to attend to now, but I’m coming down early – certainly before you’ve gone to bed.” He withdrew the folded letter from his inner coat pocket and held it out to you. “So would you rather read this now, or hear the full story orated tonight?”

You considered this for a moment, you hand half-extended to accept the letter. As tantalizing as knowing the contents was – especially when it was dangling right in front of you – Loki obviously wanted to tell you himself. You certainly weren’t opposed to the idea of listening to his low, hypnotizing voice at length. What harm would a few more hours do? 

You withdrew your hand and looked up at him, nodding. “I’d rather hear you tell it.” 

Loki replaced the letter but didn’t smile. “Until then.”

You returned to the bed, falling onto your front and lying there for a moment as you contemplated the book sitting a few inches from your nose. The rocking of the boat was indiscernible in the cabin, but if you focused, you could hear the creaking of the hull, the breaking of the waves, and Loki’s voice shouting orders up above.

You let out a sigh and sat up, opening the book and finding the passage detailing Ursa Minor. If you had more than a few hours to kill, there was no better time to start than the present – though you had every intention of exploring the ship later.

_‘Ursa Minor,’ _you began reading silently, propping your chin on your hand._ ‘The constellation of the Little Bear, also named “_Stella Polaris_.” This seven-stared constellation lies at the end handle of the Little Dipper, whose stars are rather faint . . ._


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO MUCH for waiting, November was balls-to-the-wall crazy but december is looking much more chill. (◡‿◡✿)

You stirred from slumber, turning your head against the pillow. Your eyebrows pulled together and you groaned, opening your eyes blearily.

Loki’s sea-green eyes stared back.

Your face flushed and you pushed yourself up quickly, brushing away the hair stuck to your cheek. You probably looked a mess, and the thought of it only made you more embarrassed. He was still staring. 

“_What_?” you asked defensively, your voice thick with sleep. 

“I came down. You were calling out for me in your sleep.”

Any bleariness or fatigue was gone in an instant. Your eyes snapped wide open and you opened your mouth to defend yourself, to admonish yourself of the guilt that came from your wicked dreams – and then you stopped.

Loki wasn’t teasing you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his angular face was somber, brow gently furrowed in a mark of genuine concern.

You cleared your throat and forced the panic explanation back down your throat. “Just a bad dream.”

A terrible lie, and completely untrue. His performance had been stellar. But if Loki suspected that you were lying, he chose to ignore it. “About the storm?”

Your eyes flitted to the window and you realized for the first time since waking that despite it being late morning the light outside had diminished, and the muffled sound of pelting rain against the ship’s hull met your ears. You didn’t realize it would come so fast. “It’s upon us?”

Loki nodded. “The beginnings of it.” He rose from his sitting position on the edge of the bed and offered you his hand. “Are you hungry?” 

Your stomach rumbled with an answer of its own and you took his hand, letting him pull you out of the bed. You brushed the sand from the corners of your eyes and followed him, noting silently that he didn’t let go of your hand.

He opened the door and the wind funneling down from the stairs met you with a violent rush, slamming against your body with such force that you nearly fell back against the wall. Loki acted quickly, pulling you back, further into the cargo hold and away from the stairs.

“The beginnings of it?” You echoed incredulously, watching one of the sailors come down with his clothes sopping wet, absolutely drenched from the rain. Little streams ran down the steps and settled in ever-shifting puddles on the floor, spilling from one side of the ship to the other as it rocked in the wind. 

“It’s just water,” Loki pointed out, but his stance was protective and overshadowing, his shoulders curled inward to shield you from any rogue spray of seawater. He didn’t give you any time to savor it, however – in another moment he had taken your hand again, leading you further into the cargo hold. You passed neatly arranged rows of barrels and crates. To your surprise, at least half the crew was belowdecks, tying off ropes and tightening lids. They worked at a maddening pace, and you found yourself pulling closer to Loki to avoid colliding with them as they passed.

“I thought everyone would be on deck,” you mused aloud. You took care not to step in any puddles of water as you walked.

Loki glanced back at you, then around at his men working in the orange lamplight. “If the cargo hasn’t been properly stowed, it will come loose during the storm and cause the ship to keel over.”

He stepped across a large puddle and reached under your arms, lifting you effortlessly over and setting you down again without missing a beat.

Your limited knowledge of sailor’s vocabulary was failing you. “Keel over?” You repeated. 

Loki nodded, rounding a corner. “Tip onto its side.”

An immediate rise of anxiety filled your lungs and you forced it back down, trying to think of calmer things, like Loki’s hand still grasping yours, firm and solid. His hands had done positively sinful things to you in your dreams – enough to make you call out to him, apparently. Your face was burning at the thought. 

Suddenly the rows of wooden boxes and pirated cargo pulled away to reveal the open door to the galley kitchen. Loki dropped your hand as he stepped inside, nodding to a sailor spooning soup into a bowl. The sailor took one final ladle’s worth before hurrying out, ducking his head as he passed and clutching the bowl tightly to stop soup from spilling over the edges.

You gripped the frame of the doorway for balance and took a moment to look around the room. There were salted meats hanging from the ceiling. Other hardy foods were carefully stored and labeled. Metal utensils dangling from their pegs made a symphony of clinking whenever the ship rocked, bumping tin against tin with metallic chimes. The embers below the cauldron of soup glowed a dim orange. Hot coals shifted, casting dull sparks over the floorboards that faded to black and dissolved into ash. You lifted your foot when a coal rolled off the brick hearth and tumbled towards you.

Loki moved cat-like across the room and spooned soup into a wooden bowl, being careful not to spill as the ship rocked. “What was your dream about?” He asked without turning. 

You felt your heart drop in your chest and tried to sound nonchalant. “I can’t remember.” _So much for sated curiosity._ You should have known he wouldn’t push it from his mind so easily. Everything you knew about him indicated otherwise; his seaglass eyes and cunning wit missed nothing, and if your mind didn’t cease and desist its inappropriate behavior, you knew you were going to pay for it soon. 

You were so unused to dealing with something so relentlessly frustrating. Fancying someone was one thing; dreaming about them almost every night was another. You weren’t sure whether to act on your feelings, or keep trying to stifle them. Both ideas held a measure of guilt, and you twisted the ring on your finger as you puzzled over them – something that had become a nervous habit by now. 

“Pity,” He said, stepping carefully over and holding the bowl outstretched. You took it quickly, holding it close to your chest and wincing aloud when the floor tilted and a fraction of its scalding contents burned your fingers.

You left the galley and followed Loki back to his quarters, grateful when he shut the door behind you and cut off the howling wind. You had largely succeeded in staying dry. You sat down on the edge of the bed and cradled your bowl of soup in your lap, watching Loki pull off his jacket and smooth back his dark hair. He gazed at the door for a moment.

You raised your eyebrows cautiously. “Shouldn’t you be up there?” 

Loki’s eyes held their gaze for a moment before he shook his head and sighed, rubbing his face. “They know what they’re doing.” Suddenly you caught a glimpse of the hollows in his cheeks and darkness beneath his eyes – Loki was _exhausted._ Even the way he carried himself, with pinched shoulders and heavy steps, pointed to his blatant fatigue. But it was there and gone in a moment; he straightened, and sighed, and the illusion of grandeur and charisma was back in full form. It was almost bewildering, the mirage that came and went, and you found yourself staring at him with a new wave of sympathy. You could afford to wring your hands and fret about the storm from down below, in the relative safety of his cabin, but Loki was the one who bore the weight of actually delivering you from the wind and waves. 

_So piracy isn’t all careless frivolity and clear weather, _you thought mildly. 

Loki sat down and pulled the familiar tri-folded parchment from his jacket before tossing it over the arm of the chair, holding the letter out to you.

You frowned, taking it. “You promised to tell me what it contained yourself.” 

Loki raised an eyebrow and leaned back, crossing his arms and bringing one hand to his lips. “It would be easier to answer your questions once you’ve…” he smirked faintly, recalling your phrase, “… passed the interesting part.”

You nodded, unfolding the paper. “Fair enough.” You could feel Loki’s eyes burning a hole as they stared at you, and you suddenly felt like an imposter – you were reading something deeply private, made only more intimate by having the subject sit in front of you. But you pushed the feeling away and set to reading, skimming down the lines until you found your place. 

…_ Of the many pirates aboard the ship died in defense of a certain precious cargo. Had I not discovered for myself what was there, it might have gone unnoticed. This woman, dying from her wounds, held against her chest a bundled infant. She was on the verge of death when I found her, but still she tried in vain to fight me, and breathed her last. I can only assume that this child, black-haired and pink of skin – not unlike our son when he was scarcely a week old – is the Captain’s son. Though his father is doomed to the gallows, and rightly so, this child is innocent, and if you should find in your heart the desire to accept him as your own I would not be opposed. If not, the poorhouses may care for him, and see that he is brought up in good standing._

There were a few more paragraphs, but you stopped there to look up at Loki. 

He stared at you with bated breath. Every second of heavy silence was counted by his nervous, almost imperceptible inhale, made all the more obvious by the fear in his sea-green eyes. Loki’s eyes were rimmed with fear as he waited for your response.

It broke your heart. You set your jaw, gave the letter one more glance, and tossed it aside almost carelessly, returning your hand to hold your bowl of soup. “Alright.”

You took a sip – and regretted it immediately, the brew was still scalding – while Loki gaped at you.

“That’s all you have to say?” He asked slowly.

“Should I say something else?” you asked, lowering the bowl and looking up at him curiously. “Your family adopted you.”

“I– I am the son of one of the most villainous pirates–_ criminals_ –in the Caribbean,” he protested, sounding a bit chagrined by the fact that you were taking this so lightly.

“Are you trying to justify yourself to me?” You asked, gesturing around the room with your spoon. “The piracy? Because it’s in your blood?” Loki opened his mouth, but you pressed on. “You have wealth, and freedom, and the world at your feet. The seas are open to you to sail in whichever direction, with a group of men who will follow you to whatever end. Why should it matter who this rogue pirate was?”

Loki’s jaw flexed and he sighed. “Charles Vane.”  
  
You stopped and closed your mouth. The ship creaked and hanging lanterns tilted with the rocking of its hull against the waves. 

“Your real father… ” You whispered.

“– was Charles Vane,” Loki finished for you. 

You knew him. Everyone in the Caribbean did. Bloodthirsty, vicious, and infamously wretched, Vane was as fearsome as they came. The unspeakable acts and violent tales were frequent discussion topics in seaside taverns. You’d heard more than a handful of legends yourself, well enough to tell them. “But… he didn’t hang, he escaped the noose,” you said. “They say he still sails these waters.”

Lok raised an eyebrow and smiled for the first time that evening. He gestured grandly to his chest with one hand. 

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “_You’re_ pretending to be him?” 

Loki hummed an affirmative. “Him, his son, his vengeful ghost. I let them believe what they choose. Apparently I take after his roguish looks.” He raised an eyebrow and sighed, reaching for the letter. He folded it carefully, his long fingers making slow work of an otherwise simple process, like he was reluctant to put it away. He shrugged. “No one knows the truth of who I am. Not Thor, not my crew … and my father thinks I haven’t the faintest idea,” he adds, smiling ruefully. “Second son or not, he has never cared for me. I was only ever a tool in his grand scheme.” 

Your heart panged with empathy. You certainly knew how it felt to be used by your father. “So you’ve turned pirate to spite Odin?” 

“That is the long and short of it,” Loki agreed amiably, standing and striding over to the dresser. He opened the drawer, lifted the false bottom, and set the tri-folded parchment back in its place. “Once I’ve successfully torn apart my father’s empire and left his fleet in shambles, I’ll leave. With more than enough money for an honest living, should I ever desire such a thing. But piracy is fun,” he added, smirking. 

The idea of Loki leaving made your heart twist painfully in your chest. “Where?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Who knows? I’ve been to Europe a few times. There is so much ocean I still have yet to see.” His sea-green eyes held a far off look, their irises reflecting the colors of foreign waters. You could envision him easily, discovering some new continent, sailing confident through calm and stormy weather – like the ocean outside your cabin now. Your mind turned to the gravity of the storm as the ship rocked more violently than usual, and you twisted the garnet ring on your finger.

Loki glanced at you and saw your eyes staring through the paneled window with an anxious expression. The feeling in his heart resurfaced – that annoying, insistent desire. You looked genuinely distressed. While he wanted desperately to believe that it was the thought of his departure, Loki knew that the storm outside held sway over your emotions. Not him. He was loathe to admit that when his mind had drifted to thoughts of Europe, Africa, or someplace unknown – he had seen you there beside him like a daydream, laughing into the wind.

And then there was the ring on your finger. He watched you spin the heart-shaped garnet given to you by his brother, who knew so little about you. Thor, whose focus was ever turned towards pleasing their father – how would he ever have the time to know and love you the way you deserved? Loki knew that he didn’t even desire it. An arranged marriage was simply another task set to him by Odin, right in between shipping orders and merchant maps. The thought of it made his vision red-rimmed.

He had never intended to help you, only to use you for his own amusement at best, but Loki couldn’t deny that things had changed. His heart had changed. He couldn’t live with the idea of dooming you to such an unhappy life, to wait guilt-ridden for you to turn to him in desperation. You were owed the chance to make your own choices. 

Even if you fled from him at the first sign of freedom, Loki decided, he would help you nonetheless.

Suddenly the boat rocked violently, and Loki was pitched forward. The scalding contents of the bowl cradled in your hands spilled onto your lap and you shrieked, standing up just as Loki collided with you. You latched onto one of the bedposts in a desperate attempt to stay standing. Loki’s arms flung out to catch himself on the bed, taking you down with him.

You gasped as the burning water immediately soaked through your clothes and pushed desperately against his chest. “Get off!”

“I’m sorry–” he stammered, pulling back as fast as humanly possible. You sat up, pulling at the fabric of your shirt. Loki jumped into action, helping you undo the strings and pull it over your head. He averted his gaze, grabbing onto the bedpost and coming dangerously close to toppling into you when the ship rocked again, more violently.

You hissed at the sight of reddened skin – it wasn’t terrible, but it would certainly aggravate you for a few days. You pressed a finger lightly to the enflamed skin before realizing that your top half was entirely bare – your face flushed and you grasped for a blanket to hold to your chest, but Loki was already turned around, rifling through the dresser for a clean shirt. 

He found one, waiting for the ship’s uneven pitching to balance out before crossing the floor and holding it out to you with lowered eyes. “Here.”

You took it and pulled it over your head. When you pushed away your hair and looked up, Loki’s eyes were still averted, his alabaster cheeks tinged crimson. He had always been so quick to torment you in the past, but apparently all it took was spilled soup to unravel his facade. Maybe some of the things he said were, in fact, genuine. 

“Loki,” you began.

The door opened. Volstagg stood in the doorway, holding onto the frame to keep his balance. You could hear the amplified howl of the wind and cascading rain as it drummed against the hull and flooded the stairs. “Cap’n?” 

Loki was pulled from his thoughts and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“They need you on deck, sir.” 

Loki nodded, and the door closed, taking the sound with it. He moved slowly to grab his coat from the desk chair, hesitating. He turned and looked you up and down, flexing his jaw in a way that drove you mad. 

“Yes?” you asked.

He shrugged, shaking his head. His lips were curved in the faintest of tired smiles. “I would never take what isn’t freely given, no matter how tantalizing you may be.” His expression sobered. “Stay here. Under no circumstance are you to leave, do you understand?” 

The change in his tone – not to mention his initial comment – practically gave you whiplash. You struggled to respond as he made for the door. “But–” 

“Under _no _circumstance,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. 

You stared back with your heart in your mouth. Just how terrible was the storm outside? “Alright. Just… Be careful.”

Loki paused in pulling on his coat, and then nodded, setting a hand on his chest. “ I swear, I will return to you in one piece.”


	9. IX

All you could do was worry.

Loki’s promise of returning to you only made your anxious waiting worse — was there a possibility that he might _not _return in one piece? You truly had no idea how difficult the storm was to sail through. The pounding rain against the hull and occasional roll of thunder was a noisy backdrop to your anxious thoughts. 

There was no point in picking up your astronomy book again— the constant rocking made the words swim on the page, and you gave up quickly. Everything kept shifting back and forth. You blew out all the candles, leaving the lantern by the door glowing as the sole source of light. It was barely afternoon, but the sky outside the window was dark, with no contrast where the clouds ended and the waves began. You could only imagine what it felt like to be on deck and in the midst of the wind and rain— you didn’t envy Loki. Instead, your stomach churned with worry for him.

After mulling about and putting away any desktop objects that might roll onto the floor, you stripped off your clothes and pulled on your chemise. The trousers were admittedly freeing, but the fabric was stiff. Still, you would definitely be wearing them more often.

You paused with the trousers half-folded over your arm. They were Loki’s clothes, not yours. You shouldn’t be making imaginary plans around him, no matter how small.

A huff escaped your lips. You were thoroughly enraptured by him now, despite your best efforts. Damn him and his honey-coated words, his sharp jaw, sea-colored eyes, his muscled arms…

You threw the trousers into the drawer and dropped onto the bed dramatically, pulling the covers over your body in one angry motion. You glared in the dark. 

_I could never take what isn’t freely given, no matter how tantalizing you may be._

But you did want him to take you. You could admit that to yourself now.

You flipped onto your back and pulled the covers down a bit, stewing silently and staring at the paneled ceiling. It was driving you mad. 

Just once, you wanted to let yourself indulge in him without feeling guilty for it.

You sighed, chewing your lip before reaching between your legs. You needed a distraction from the storm anyways – and nothing else would satiate your frustration. This, at least, you could control.

You exhaled and closed your eyes as you found a familiar rhythm. Memory blended with fantasy as you recalled the feeling of his hands – their careful touch when he held you so securely while dancing. You imagined their gentle caresses trailing over your skin, while his lips whispered sinful praises against your ear. Every way he had touched you, each honey-coated compliment and sinful inference, was ushered to the forefront of your memory to be put to use. 

Thunder rolled above you and you forced yourself to ignore the rise of anxiety that it brought to your chest. You thought instead of Loki’s hungry gaze when he’d looked at you in the mirror. The way he’d pinned you against the tree in the gardens – even now, the recollection of his words made you shiver.

how long will it take before I find you in my bed, whimpering in the dark, begging me for the comfort your husband cannot give? 

You sunk deeper into the sheets, reaching up to grip your pillow as you let yourself go completely. It was his fingers instead of yours between your legs, his mouth on your skin and driving you to the edge of bliss. Your body tensed, clenched, and shattered.

Your mind slowly floated back to your body as you laid in the dim lamplight, breathing hard. Unknown minutes passed. The wave of endorphins dripped through your veins, gradually giving way to tiredness. Sated, you pushed your hair from your face and shifted further below the blankets, nestling into the safety of the bed. Your hand reached up to rub your face, and you felt the cold metal of your engagement ring brush against your flushed skin.

You pulled your hand away to stare at the garnet. It glowed dimly in the light, like a drop of crystallized blood wrapped in silver. Beautiful in its craftsmanship – like an elegantly tied noose. 

An unfamiliar emotion rose in your chest: something deeper than rebellion, cooler than anger. Thor would _not _be your husband – not if you had anything to say about it. You reached up, pulling the ring from your finger, and set it on the bedside table. Your hand felt almost lighter with the absence of such a heavy emotional weight.

For the first time, finally, you were taking hand of the reins. Your future laid in the direction of wherever this pirate ship was going, and you couldn’t be more resolute about it. The thought made you smile as you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the rocking of the ship and the mingled noise of rain and thunder, oblivious to the storm around you. 

~ 

Loki moved carefully as he climbed down from the crow’s nest. His hands held tightly to the wet rope as rain pelted against him from every side– going hand over hand, taking a measured breath for every rung. The ship’s violent pitching meant almost certain death for any misstep.

Climbing the rigging up to try and catch a glimpse of the horizon had been utterly fruitless. Loki didn’t want to admit it, but this was chalking up to be less of a storm and more of a hurricane. The waves were growing more violent at every hour, and the risk of keeling over or hitting a reef was running high.

Lightning flashed in the dark clouds. He reached for the next rung and his hand slipped on its slick surface. The deck flew up towards him and he grabbed madly for the rope, catching just enough friction to slow his descent before he hit the deck and crumpled.

Volstagg, standing at the helm with his bear-like arms straining against the wheel, shouted across the deck. “Cap’n! You alright?” 

Loki grunted and waved his hand dismissively, resting on his elbows for a moment before standing to his feet. The deck was slippery with rainwater – _everything_ was slippery with rainwater. Loki cursed as he wiped water from his eyes, holding onto one of the posts to keep his footing. The flesh of his hands burned red from the ropes.

He started towards the helm when the ship pitched itself again, and stumbled. Thomas abandoned the half-tied rope in his hand to catch his captain before he fell again. 

“Go below!” He shouted over the rain. “We can ‘andle her!”

Loki shook his head stubbornly. Rivulets of water dripped down his face and ran off his jaw– there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t soaked through. “I’m alright.”

“You’ve been awake nearly three days,” Thomas insisted. His young face was cast in an earnest frown.

Volstagg handed the wheel off and stepped down, setting his paw on Loki’s shoulder. “Aye, we’ll call should we need you. Get some rest.”

Loki’s hollowed eyes stared at Volstagg for a long moment before he conceded with a nod, letting go of Thomas’s arm. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion as he made his way cautiously across the leaning deck. He ducked his head instinctively when lightning flashed again, followed by a long roll of thunder. His eyes were blurred with fatigue.

Loki descended the wooden stairs and shook his head, wringing water out from his clothes to lessen their incessant dripping before he opened the door to the Captain’s quarters.

There was only a single lantern burning by the door, casting the room in a dull orange glow. Loki looked around. He spotted the vague lump in the bed where you were curled up and smiled faintly, a small laugh escaping through his nose. He’d been afraid that you would be beset with worry – which was a rather indulgent thought, you worrying over him – or feeling sick on account of the ship’s violent rocking. It was surprisingly comforting to him, to see you curled safely asleep in bed. In his bed. 

The floorboards creaked painfully loud beneath his feet as he crossed the room, peeling the wet shirt from his body. His limbs ached from the cold. Even though the room was warm, Loki couldn’t stop shivering. He winced as he reached to put the shirt on a hanger, feeling the soreness of his side where he’d hit the deck. No doubt there would be a full set of bruises on his ribcage tomorrow, if they weren’t blossoming already.

He shut the dresser door gently, holding onto the handle when the ship groaned and rocked. Loki’s tired eyes fell to the object rolling off its surface, and he caught it before it hit the floor, holding it up in the light to inspect it.

Your ring.

He set it down instantly like it burned him. It should be on your hand, not set atop the dresser. Why had you taken it off? His mind searched for an answer and found none. He looked down at your face turned against the pillow, hair splayed and eyelashes still against your cheeks in sleep, your left hand noticeably bare. But your angelic expression held no answer. 

Perhaps it had merely been uncomfortable to wear for so long… but that answer left Loki dissatisfied in the same way that your response to his question had earlier, when he asked you about the content of your dreams.

Loki reached for the ring and picked it up with a degree of hesitation. He opened the drawer and set it beside the thrice-folded letter, closing the false bottom and pushing it shut. His eyes fell on you again, and he sighed. “Ever you remain something of a mystery to me,” he murmured, reaching down and tucking back a piece of your hair with his long fingers.

The ship rocked, and you shifted in your sleep, causing him to withdraw his hand. The last thing he wanted was to disturb you – and sleeping in the same bed would certainly do that. With an exhausted exhale, Loki turned, walking across the room and collapsing into the desk chair. He pulled the fabric of his jacket mostly over his chest like a blanket, setting his chin in his hand and letting his eyes fall closed. His body ached uncomfortably and he shifted.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice came slow and sleepy from the bed, but it startled him nonetheless, and he jerked. “Erm–”

“Are you sleeping in the chair?” You asked, your voice turning accusatory as you began to wake up. You sat up in the bed, holding the coverlet to your chest. Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, falling into your face before you pushed it away with your free hand.

Loki dropped his gaze. Your white chemise hung from your shoulders, but for propriety’s sake you might as well have been naked. “I…” he couldn’t think of a suitable lie. “Yes. I had no desire to disturb you.”

“This is your bed.” 

Loki’s eyebrow twitched. “I know that.”

“You should sleep in it.” 

He reached up and rubbed his face, sighing against his hand. “My lady,” he began sarcastically, “I have no intention of impressing myself upon you–”

“I want you to.” 

He stopped. Opened his mouth– closed it again. This had to be a dream. He had hit the deck and broken his neck upon impact; that was the only possible explanation.

Loki’s hand dropped slowly and he lifted his gaze, not daring to breathe as he looked at you. His stomach had turned to a flutter of moths. You gazed back at him in the orange lamplight, with a puzzled expression, before it turned quickly to shock, and then a flushed shade of scarlet. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean– I want you to sleep in the_ bed_,” you clarified, pointing to the spot beside you to make your point. “Not– not to sleep with–”

“Right, of course,” Loki agreed quickly, nodding emphatically as heat spread to his own face. He wanted to pitch himself over the side of the railing. How could he possibly have thought that you meant anything otherwise? He cleared his throat, shaking his head a few times, as if it would get rid of his mortified emotional state, and tried to reassemble whatever was left of his composure. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Your eyebrows pulled together in a frown and you glared at him. “Which is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Is it ‘of course,’ or ‘I’m afraid not?’”

“The latter,” He snapped. “I was trying to be_ considerate_. It’s a miracle you were asleep at all, in the midst of a hurricane–” He stopped and clamped his mouth shut. His heart twisted inside his chest as you visibly paled and your shoulders tensed. Your eyes flitted to the paneled window, staring through the dark glass before setting on him again. There was a beat of silence. 

“Why are you here?” you began, the coverlet fabric bunched in your fists. “If … if the storm is truly as formidable as you say, shouldn’t you be up there?”

“I would be,” he admitted. “But my men insisted.” When you didn’t reply, he continued on. “I couldn’t stay awake.” He cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows and gesturing vaguely to his left side. “I fell from the rigging.” 

Your reaction was immediate. “Are you hurt? may I see?” 

Loki hummed in affirmation and pushed himself up, discarding his jacket and coming around to your side of the bed. Your cheeks tinged at the sight of him half-naked – his lean, muscular figure shouldn’t have surprised you, but you had trouble looking away from him all the same. Captaining a ship obviously kept him fighting fit. 

You felt the dip in the bed when he sat down on the edge, raising his arm for you to observe his side. 

Your mouth opened in silent shock at his mottled skin, cut in some places and bruising all over. You reached out, touching your fingers gingerly to the discolored ribs. 

Loki inhaled quickly through his teeth and you withdrew your hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head and dropped his arm. “No need.” He blinked slowly, losing his train of thought and staring off for a long moment. The quick glimpse you had seen earlier of his exhausted state was much worse than you imagined— he was beginning to shiver, the dark circles beneath his eyes more prominent in the dim light. 

You wanted to run your thumb over his cheek and press a kiss there for good measure. Instead, you nudged him with your leg. “You might as well sleep here,” you suggested gently, raising an eyebrow. “Since you made it this far.” 

Loki blinked, withdrawing from his thoughts and chuckling. “Was this all a scheme to get me into your bed, little one?” He purred. The tired gravelling in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you stuttered. “N-no, I–” 

He reached out and put a long finger to your lips, smirking tiredly. “Shh.” He nodded towards the other side. “Move over?”

You obliged, scooting over to the other side so that Loki could get in. You silently mused that he probably wouldn’t have asked you to move if he hadn’t been in his current state. You weren’t certain he could have walked it around to the other side without stumbling.

Loki settled with a sigh, lying on his undamaged side with the coverlet pooled around his waist. You slid below the covers and stared at him through narrowed eyes, watching as he raked a hand through his raven hair. Even beneath the covers, he was still shivering.

You mustered the courage to speak in the dark. “Cold?” 

He inhaled, shaking his head against the pillow. “Just damp.” 

The ship rocked and your stomach turned over as a crash of thunder rolled above you. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to imagine yourself on solid ground and in your own bed – not inches away from temptation personified. It had been so easy to fall asleep only hours ago… 

But Loki obviously had no such trouble. He was completely still, save for his slow, steady breathing. His dark hair fell in curls against his pillow.

Thunder crashed again and an unintentional gasp escaped your mouth. You pressed your hand to your lips, wide-eyed in the dark as the ship rocked again, more violently this time. You tried to swallow your heart and shifted further under the covers. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. You had never assumed he would be such a heavy sleeper.

Which, against your better judgement, gave you an idea.

You took a deep breath, and scooted closer– just within reach to feel the warmth coming off his skin, and find some semblance of comfort in the wake of the storm. The familiar smell of rose, saltwater and leather accompanied your newfound proximity to him, and you reached out to tease a strand of his hair into a loop around your finger – soft. Your heartbeat slowed inside your chest, and you closed your eyes.

Then you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

Your eyes flew open and you stared at him, frozen in shock – he was still turned away from you, one arm reaching over. _Not a heavy sleeper,_ you thought as your stomach dropped._ He wasn’t sleeping at all._ You waited for the reprimand, the sinful comment, but for a long moment all that met you was harrowing silence.

Finally, Loki drew a breath. “Storms like these make children of us all,” he murmured. His words were slow and careful as he thumbed unconsciously over your wrist, before letting go. “They frighten us more than we would prefer to admit.”

You weren’t sure what to say; you had a feeling that he wasn’t speaking to your actions alone. Thunder rumbled again, and you tensed at the deep vibration.

Loki turned onto his back with a pained grunt, rolling his shoulders against the mattress to find a position that didn’t hurt his side. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, and lifted his hand in offering.

You stared at it in motionless shock for so long that you could feel Loki’s patience wearing thin.

He raised his eyebrows, eyes still closed. “Do you want it, or not?”

You took his hand. His long, calloused fingers completely engulfed yours. It was such a small connection, but you could feel his every heartbeat through his skin, strong and steady. It may have been your imagination, but whenever the ship took an abrupt turn, his grip tightened ever so slightly. The simplest of gestures, and yet it was more of a comfort to you than any of Thor’s words or actions had ever been.

_Why couldn’t it have been him? ****_You wondered, before sleep reclaimed you and the sounds of the storm faded away once more.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1,000 hits and 100 kudos! thank you so much!

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until Loki was pulling you out of bed.

“Get up! Up, quickly!”

You shrieked when you slid off the bed and landed ankle-deep in water. The entire cabin was flooded: the chairs were floating, and even the heavier furniture was beginning to shift. You clung to Loki’s arm with one hand and grabbed the fabric of your chemise with the other, lagging behind him as he pulled you out into the hallway.

The ship was pitching back and forth more wildly than ever. As soon as you stepped out you began to slide down the hallway. Loki snatched you up and pulled you against his chest, holding onto a beam until the floor leveledagain. The steady stream of rainwater cascading down the stairs was as loud as a waterfall, pouring more water into the hold with every wave that hit the deck.

“Go!” He instructed, giving you a push in the direction of the galley. “Stay out of the way!”

“Wait!” You shouted desperately. You watched as he sprinted to the stairs, gripping the banister to haul himself upwards, and then he was gone. You grabbed one of the ropes as the boat rocked again, pulling you backwards.

The rope creaked in your hands before the strings unwound and it snapped. The barrels came loose, slamming against the wet floor and tumbling towards you. A panicked shout left your lips as you scrambled out of the way. You caught hold of the banister and swung yourself onto the stairs just in time, gasping for breath as they rolled past, clinging to the banister for dear life.

You couldn’t stay down here to get crushed by cargo. You had to find Loki.

The ship leveled out, and you took your chance, using the banister to pull yourself up the stairs against the current of water cascading down. Huge raindrops hit your face as you emerged from the hold. You ascended the last few steps and threw yourself onto the deck as the ship pitched again, pushing yourself to your feet and looking around frantically for Loki.

There was no separation between the sky and the sea. It was all one sphere of dark grey, illuminated by flashes of lightning that tore the clouds in two and sent more water cascading down. Towering waves rose high and crashed against the hull with enough force to knock your off feet. Water ran across the deck at every turn, flowing out into the sea before another wave replaced it.

Your chemise was thoroughly drenched and clinging to your skin as you held onto the railing, pushing your wet hair from your eyes and looking across the deck. There were sailors everywhere. Everyone moved with the same cadence: hanging on for dear life when the ship pitched, and sprinting to their destination during the few precious seconds when the deck evened out again.

You spotted Volstagg at the helm, struggling to hold the wheel in place and keep it steered in the right direction. Thomas, helping another sailor tie a knot like his life depended on it. Everyone moved around you like the gears of a clock, desperate to keep time without falling behind.

Your heart was in your throat when you finally found Loki. He was hanging onto the rigging like a cat, somehow refusing to fall despite being pitched from side to side. With a mooring line looped over one arm, he watched his men work from a bird’s eye view. His black hair spun and tangled in the wind with life of its own.

You blinked away the drops that clung to your eyelashes and watched with baited breath as he waited for the ship to tilt, and at the right moment, he leapt– catching holdof a free rope and sliding down. As soon as he landed, sailors ran to help him, pulling on the rope until they could tie it to the cleat. Loki sprinted to hand the mooring line off to Thomas, before turning against the tilt of the ship and finding a rail to cling to.

A giant, dark wave crested and slammed against the starboard side. The ship groaned as water spilled over the deck. You braced yourself, looping your arm around the banister of the stairs– but the spray was like a thousand slippery hands that tugged on you from every direction, grabbing you by the ankles and clinging to your clothes.

Your fingers lost their grip on the slick wood and you shrieked as your legs were swept out from under you, carrying you across the deck and towards the railing.

Thomas shouted your name and lunged for you. His hand reached for your yours, but fell short. Your body hit the solid railing of the deck with enough force to make it splinter and fall away.

You lunged for the unbroken rail, gasping for breath and holding tightly to the creaking wood with every ounce of strength. There was nothing but open ocean behind you. The wind whipped at your hair and acted as an accomplice to the waves, pulling and pushing at you to try and send you over the edge.

A flash of lightning illuminated the ship’s outline. You saw Loki sprinting down the deck towards you with a rope in hand, struggling to keep his balance as it leveledout.

You reached out your hand – and then retracted it as the deck slanted, clinging to the railing for dear life. His mouth shaped words that you couldn’t hear as he slid towards you, looping the rope around his chest in a swift slip knot and peeling you away from the edge.

You clung to his shoulders and buried your face in his neck, choking back a panicked sob. “It’s alright,” he said, though you could barely hear it over the rolling thunder. Loki took the rope in both hands, prepared to pull you both up as the ship came dangerously close to a vertical tilt.

He was climbing hand over hand, step by step, when a bolt of lightning lit the foremost mast in a bolt of white and split it in two. The thunder was instantaneous, booming so loud that for a moment you heard nothing at all. Warm rain blurred your vision. You watched in muted horror as the mast creaked, leaned, and fell into splintered pieces.

“_Look out_!” You screamed.

Loki was quick on the draw, putting you out of harm’s way by shielding you with his body. Your chest heaved with every panicked breath as he kept one hand on the rope and the other around your waist, dodging the splinters of the mast as they fell past you and into the sea without a splash.

But he couldn’t dodge them all. There was a swift, audible _**SNAP **_when one large piece spliced the rope holding you up in two. The sudden loss of leverage made Loki stumble and lose his grip, trying to find something to hold as the two of you slid towards the broken railing. He grasped desperately, catching hold of the jagged railing.

It broke in his hand.

Your breath left your chest as the waves swept up to meet you, and you fell into the sea.

Hitting the water felt like falling from your bedroom window and slamming against cobblestone. The initial pain gave way to an ever-present sting. You opened your eyes and regretted it immediately: it was dark all around you, and the saltwater burned. Which way was up? You flailed wildly as every passing wave hit your body and spun you like a top, further confusing any lingering sense of direction.

You tried to breathe and bitter water filled your mouth. Everything _burned_. Your limbs stuck out and tried to push you to the surface, but you couldn’t swim. You didn’t know how.

Something tugged at your clothes and a bubbly shriek escaped your mouth. You kicked wildly in the direction of its grasp. Fate could choose either to drown you or let a sea creature eat you, but certainly not both.

You landed a kick, and immediately sucked in more water with a shocked gasp as the human hands that had been trying to grab you retracted.

_Loki._

You stopped flailing. Your lungs were on fire as you fought the urge to cough and inhale more water. Every second that ticked by meant you were sinking deeper, and further out of his reach. Considering you had probably just thoroughly bruised his ribs, you would understand if he decided to let you drown.

But his hands found you again. You reached out in the dark and clung to him as you surged upwards and broke through the surface.

Air had never tasted sweeter. You inhaled greedily, and then coughed as your body rejected the sea water you’d swallowed. Loki was coughing himself, struggling to keep you both afloat as he alone trod water. The ship was nowhere in sight.

“Hold your breath,” he said, and the two of you descended again as a cresting wave passed over you.

When you resurfaced, you took a gasp of air and immediately began to apologize. “Loki, I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now,” he commanded hoarsely, swivelingas he tried to look around in the water. The waves carried you up to their peak, where for a moment the entirety of the ocean was in sight – and then down again, but still the ship was nowhere to be seen. You doubted that they would have been able to rescue you.

The realization of impending death that awaited you struck your heart like a hollow bell. Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, and not for lack of air: you didn’t know how to swim. Loki certainly couldn’t support you both for long. Saving you was only temporary; despite his efforts, you would drown all the same.

Loki snapped you out of your panicked train of thought by shrugging your hand off his shoulder. “Not so hard,” He reprimanded. “I won’t drop you.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated weakly, readjusting your grip so that your fingernails didn’t dig into his skin.

Loki’s green eyes were still trailing over the waves, like he was looking for something. “Can you swim?” He asked. His voice was gravelly and hoarse.

You shook your head, and his next exhale was a frustrated sigh. “Bloody aristocrat,” he muttered, which seemed a little hypocritical, but you held your tongue. You weren’t about to exchange witty quips with your life raft. There was a beat of silence, interrupted only by the constant stream of fat raindrops and occasional roll of thunder. The waves had lessened somewhat – you didn’t need to duck underneath them anymore.

“Are we going to die?” You ventured cautiously, and you immediately felt him tense beneath your touch.

“For fuck’s sake. If you or I don’t spot something to hang onto, we just might,” Loki snapped. His muscular arms were beginning to shake with exhaustion.

_Could’ve told me sooner_, you thought, pushing your hair back with one hand before turning your head to look around. Everything was gray.

Well, not everything.

“Loki,” you said.

“I’m trying–”

“No, look.” You pointed over his shoulder. He turned to follow your gaze, kicking his legs to gain more height as a wave carried you to its crest. In the midst of the waves and the rain, there was a dark outline of something amidst the waves. It bobbed in and out of view as you rose and fell with the current.

Loki made a noise in his chest. You turned to look at him, frowning. “What is it? Driftwood?”

He shook his head. Dark curls of hair fell into his face. “No,” he murmured, tightening his jaw. “It’s not moving.”

The rain made never-ending ripples on the waves like wind against satin curtains. Thunder rolled through the clouds. You pushed your hair from your eyes and blinked away the blurriness, shuddering when you passed through a cold spot in the water. Loki treaded water silently, breathing slow and even as he continued to look around. His arm was wrapped tightly around you. His fingers gripped and released repeatedly around the fabric of your chemise, like some kind of soothing motion. You stared silently at his face as he looked around. His dark eyelashes seemed longer when they were wet.

Finally, he spoke. “Driftwood or island, it’s our only change. We have to try.” He looked at you and tooka deep breath, tightening his jaw. “Do you trust me?”

You snapped out of your trance with a frown and a shaky inhale, raising your chin when a wave went under you. “Yes.”

He smiled thinly, exhausted and resolute. “Smart girl.”

~

By the time you dragged yourself up onto the shore, the sky was darkening behind the clouds. Loki’s arm was still locked around your waist as he leaned on one elbow and dropped his forehead onto the sand. Both of you were shivering violently, gasping for breath and clinging to the earth like an anchor.

How he had kept the two of you afloat was, to you, a mystery. Personal space became a last thought– you had clung to him for hours, half-floating on your back and leaning against him as he had navigated to the shallows with painful slowness. Every breath took a lifetime. There were a few times when a wave crested, coming down on you and encasing you in cold terror – but he never left, pulling you back up again and keeping your head above water.

The dark spot in the sea had turned out to be a sand bank, completely barren of any life – not that you were picky. Loki couldn’t have kept both of you afloat for much longer.

The worst of the storm passed over you, leaving nothing but the occasional smattering of warm rain in its wake. Minutes passed uncounted as you laid in the sand. The waves tugged at you when they ran up on the shore, a gently persistent request to return to the sea. You forced your stiff limbs to pull you away from the water’s reach; you wanted nothing to do with the ocean, or any water at all. Dying on a desert island wasn’t in line with your original plan to escape an arranged marriage, but you supposed that it would be an acceptable substitute.

You were curled on the shore and shivering when you felt the familiar grip of Loki’s hands around your arm. “Get up.”

“I can’t,” you protested numbly. It wasn’t true, but you didn’t want to move. Your entire body felt like lead.

“There’s a stretch of sand bars to our left. We can follow them until we reach one with some kind of cover. You’ll catch your death here.”

You sat up and wiped the sand from the side of your face, looking out in that direction. You could barely make out the sandbanks in the dark. “I still can’t swim,” you pointed out. Your voice cracked with exhaustion.

Loki looped his arms under yours and pulled you up. “It’s shallow enough to walk.” His hand slid down and took yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on.”

He didn’t let go of your hand when the two of you started down the beach. In the dim corners of your exhausted mind you wondered whether he was merely trying to comfort you, or if he was holding onto your hand for his own sake. Either way, you weren’t going to be the first to let go.

The water was cold when it hit your toes again. You flinched, drawing a quick breath. Loki’s hand tightened around yours. “It won’t get much higher,” he reassured you, his tone apologetic. “I would carry you if I could.”

“It’s alright,” you said, swallowing the rise of anxiety and forcing yourself to focus on the steady heartbeat through Loki’s fingers. You tried not to think about the fact that you could drown in shallow water just as easily as you could in the middle of the sea.

Loki kept glancing at you as you waded through the water. Your face was a painted expression of worry, and the waves were only knee-deep. He tried to think of something to say, to pull your mind away from the ocean. He thumbed over the back of your hand and noticed the absence of metal on your finger. Yes, he remembered– the ring, still inside the drawer compartment of his dresser aboard the ship. But that still didn’t explain why you had taken it off.

Loki inhaled deeply and finally mustered the nonchalant bravado to ask. “What happened to your ring?”

You blinked as his voice pulled you out of your morbid thoughts. Your face flushed in the dark. “I…” You trailed off, unable to think of a lie. It would be better to tell the truth anyway, wouldn’t it? “I took it off.”

No reaction. “Why?”

Your brow furrowed. “I don’t want to get married.”

Loki’s eyebrows raised as his heart fell. Why on _earth_ did his heart fall? It elicited a rise of indignation at his own feelings. He stewed silently, his brow quirked in a frown that you couldn’t see. It was all the better for you to take charge of your own destiny. Why should it matter to him, whether you wanted to get married or not?

His nonverbal response didn’t escape your notice. “Not _ever_, just… not to Thor,” you amended, and tried to crack a joke. “I’m not taking a lifelong vow of chastity.”

Loki made a sound in his chest that could have been a laugh. “I don’t believe ‘unmarried’ and ‘chaste’ are the same thing, little one.” 

Your face heated and you opened your mouth to protest, but you were too tired to think of an intelligent response. All you could think about was how Loki’s hand felt in yours– and the ways you imagined it felt elsewhere. So you closed your lips.

The two of you walked in silence. It was almost completely dark all around you; the clouds were so thick that no patch of sky shone through – No north star to guide your way.

You lost track of the number of sandbars that you crossed– each one with a little more vegetation, it seemed– until you waded through the water one last time and felt soft, thick grass under your bare feet. The shadowy silhouettes of trees stood tall against the black of the ocean, and you could hear the giant palms whispering in the wind as they rubbed against one another.

Loki winced suddenly and leaned to one side. You stopped. “What is it?”

“Cut my foot,” He muttered, continuing to walk with a cautious limp. “Watch out for rocks.”

You weren’t sure how well you could adhere to this advice, considering you couldn’t see much. But Loki must have been able to, because he led you with obvious intention, walking carefully beneath the trees and holding tightly to your hand.

It began to rain.

Loki slowed his pace as he approached a cluster of rock and trees before ducking underneath what must have been an overhang. He took you with him, putting one hand gently atop your head to avoid you hitting it. You both took a few more steps before sitting down as the gentle drizzle turned into heavy downpour.

The ground beneath you was sandy and cool. You soaked in the small joy of finally being able to dry off and rest your feet, trying not to let your thoughts wax morbid. Your stomach rumbled. You pressed your lips together, anxious at the prospect of finding food.

You were beginning to regret taking charge of your life. So far, it was going horribly. A swell of emotions rose in your chest – panic, sorrow, guilt. You tried to swallow them down, but it only made your throat tighten. You choked back a strangled sob and dropped your head onto your knees, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it all down.

Loki’s touch ghosted over your shoulder in the dark. The comforting motion broke you completely. You began to cry, outright and uncontrollably against the sound of the rain outside. Your tears were hot and salty on your cheeks, dripping off your chin and soaking the sleeves of your chemise when you tried to wipe them away in vain.

“I– I’m so _sorry,_ _this is a-a-ll my fault–_”

Loki’s arms were around you in an instant. He pulled you against him, tucking your head under his chin and holding you steady as the sobs wracked your body and made you gasp for breath. He said nothing– only ran his hands through your tangled mess of hair, rubbed comforting circles, stroked his hand up and down your spine while his sea-green eyes looked out at the rain.

_Why isn’t he angry? _you thought – still sobbing – and painfully aware of your tears staining his shirt._ I caused this. Going on deck when he told me not to, getting us both pitched overboard._

“I-I’m sorry,” you hiccuped again, like saying it a second time would somehow make you feel better. It didn’t.

You felt Loki sigh and pull you closer. You were cradled in his lap at this point, but you didn’t care. There was no one here to affront your dignity – just you, and him, and a storm on a desert island. The scent of leather and rose was faint on his clothes, but you held onto the familiarity of it with everything you had, pressing your head against his chest as your tears subsided. You gathered fists of his shirt fabric and twisted it between your fingers, feeling petulant and childlike in your misery.

You took a shaky breath and let it out just as unevenly. “Loki,” You croaked.

He pausing in stroking your arm. “Yes?” His voice was cracked and gravelly from exhaustion.

Your next statement was quiet and guilt-ridden. “I know I’m selfish in saying it, but–” your voice caught with emotion. “I – I’m glad you’re here.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the rain against the ground and the palm leaves, pitter-pattering like your heartbeat in a steady thrum. Maybe he hadn’t heard you – or perhaps he had, and was contemplating leaving you out in the rain.

Then Loki’s hand resumed its movement in stroking your hair, and he sighed, pulling you closer. He let his head fall against yours, and when he spoke you felt the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. “I would never deny the pleasure of your company.”

It almost made you smile.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient! I had to rework some plot stuff before I began this chapter. Oh, and I got the flu. Thanks for all the well wishes and above all thanks for reading! x x x

You woke up suddenly. The sand-covered stone was hard beneath you. Light filtered through the palms, shining from the curved entrance of the rocky overhand and baking the stone floor in its warmth. Rainwater dripped from the ceiling, but there were no outward signs of the storm: no howling wind or flashing lightning to assault your tired vision.

You sat up and gasped in pain- your hands reached for your back, but stalled a bit. Moving your arms hurt. Every inch of your skin ached with soreness. You felt like your muscles had unravelled into string. You gingerly rubbed at your shoulders, finding them sensitive to the touch, and let out an echoing sigh. You couldn’t imagine the state Loki’s body was in.

Loki. Where was he?

You looked around the cave. He was nowhere to be seen.

Despite the protest of your aching limbs, you stood, dusting the sand off of your chemise and pushing up the frilled sleeves. This was now your only piece of clothing to wear, and it was completely indecent. More than that, you had no doubt that the white color would turn sheer when wet.

_Lovely,_ you thought.

Your hair felt stiff from the saltwater. You stepped out onto the long grass and took a deep breath of warm, salty air. The breeze was fine, teasing at your clothing and spinning it round your legs. The palm trees were much smaller and less frightening in the light of day than they had been last night, leaning lazily from side to side and hiding clusters of fruit at the bases of their leaves. Were it not for the fact that you were stuck here, you might have called it paradise.

You followed the path out of the grove of trees, trusting your intuition and walking until the grass turned to sand. The sea unfurled like a map before you: aqua blue, completely flat and sparkling in the sunlight. The storm clouds on the edge of the horizon, black with anger and growing smaller with every passing minute, were the only sign that the storm had existed at all. Everything else about it was warm, windy, and perfect.

Loki stood in the shallows. The water was up to his knees, a sharpened staff in one hand. He stood perfectly still, staring down at the water with intense focus, his wavy hair tied half-back. You watched as the wind teased his hair, pulling at the edges of his billowing shirt, but he did not budge.

Finally you relented to curiosity and called out. “What are you doing?”

Your voice didn’t startle him. “Fishing,” he said shortly. His voice was still ragged from yesterday’s trials, and much deeper than you expected. A pang of guilt twinged inside your chest. You were to blame for that.

“Caught anything?” You asked hopefully.

You watched Loki press his lips together and took that for an answer- he didn’t seem to be in much of a talkative mood. You stood on the water’s edge, unsure what to do. The waves lapped up at the sand, turning it a shade darker before receding. A crab scuttled across the shore. You watched it disappear with bemused curiosity.

Finally, Loki seemed to accept the fact that the universe was not currently handing out fish and lifted his makeshift staff, walking up to the shore. As he came closer, you realized not only that he was limping, but also that his lithe body was covered in bruises. There were the marks along his side from falling to the deck, and new ones you didn’t recognize: miscellaneous scrapes and dark spots, most namely a huge bruise spanning a hand’s length in the middle of his chest. Normally, seeing him unclothed would be a reason to avert your eyes, but clinging to him for dear life– for hours on end, no less – had rather worn off the novelty.

“Did I do that?” You asked, a bit horrified.

Loki’s eyebrows pulled together and he looked down at the bruise you were referring to. He chuckled dryly. “You were determined to kill me, if I were a fish.” 

You pressed a hand to your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head dismissively, reaching up and unravelling the knot that held back his hair. “Don’t be.” Loki let out a noisy sigh and sat down, wincing. He unwrapped a poorly done bandage covering a long cut on the side of his foot. The saltwater had helped, but it still looked raw, and the skin around it was red with agitation. He flipped over the bandage.

You reached forward quickly, catching his wrist. “No, let me.” His blue-green eyes snapped upwards, looking dangerously sharp-edged, but he let go, allowing you to tear a clean piece of cloth from the hem of your chemise and hand it to him.

He raised an eyebrow. The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Are you not naked enough?”

Your face flushed, but you continued to hold it out stubbornly. “Unless you want to trade clothes, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Loki hummed. His expression was a cross between amused and thoughtful, and it agitated you. He still hadn’t taken the bandage. “What is it?” You snapped finally, emphasizing the cloth in your hand. “I don’t have the plague. Take it.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. He took the bandage from you, his hand brushing over yours. “You were easier to embarrass when you were fully clothed.”

Your face flushed. You crossed your arms and said nothing for a moment, watching him re-wrap his foot. Your rebuttal almost came to you too late. “Good to know I’m growing some spine, then.” You turned away, finding distraction in the flat horizon. There’s nothing out there: no land, no ships to speak of, only the sandbars that eventually disappear beneath the blue. Nothing, and no one for uncounted miles.

You felt the familiar ache of despair squeeze your chest. “What are we going do?” You asked quietly, not to Loki, or anyone in particular.

But it was him who answered, one hand on the small of your back. Its presence there wasn’t surprising, and the fact itself shocked you. “Well,” he sighed, with a raise of one dark eyebrow. “We take a look around, for a start.”

~

Together, you and Loki mapped out the island over the course of the morning. You discovered several things: firstly, that the island was probably three miles long and half as wide, made up of two large hills surrounded by a ring of trees. Your cave was nestled inside the larger of these two mounds of earth and stone. A spring was hidden in the valley between them, bubbling above the ground before it disappeared back into the earth. There were no other caves on the island’s surface, or notable landmarks to speak of.

Secondly, there was food here. Some of the trees were fruit bearing: small, wild mangos, larger than your palm and half bitter. They probably weren’t ripe when you and Loki picked them, but their skin broke beneath your teeth and the nectar was sweet enough to lift your spirits. There were probably other fruits and nuts to be found. You didn’t look hard: Loki’s limp could not be disguised from you, and you adamantly strayed away from any difficult terrain. He had suffered enough on your account.

Thirdly: you were not the first ones here.

“Stop,” Loki said suddenly, making you halt between the wide trees. The sun was nearing its peak, so you had decided to travel back to your hideout in the cover of shade. The heat, though somewhat diluted by the ocean breeze, made you grateful that your clothes were light– even if they were grossly immodest.

Loki set his foot down harshly, and was rewarded with a hollow sound. The two of you shared a similar, conspiring look. You got down on your knees and began pushing away at the sand and loose grass attempting to grow over wooden planks. Loki helped, grunting as he wedged his fingers between one of the boards and pried it loose. A cloud of dust came up and he coughed, looking down. “I can’t see inside.”

“Pull another board,” you suggested, uncovering more planks. They looked half-rotten, and the second one snapped under Loki’s grasp instead of coming out clean. He shrugged, dusting off his hands and setting them on his knees, taking another look. “It’s not deep. A few feet.”

Without waiting for him to make more observations, you swung your legs over and dropped. A shout of protest escaped his lips, but your feet hit the packed ground before he could reach for you, or do anything to stop your descent.

The hole was just deeper than you – that is to say that you could walk beneath the boards without having to duck your head. The light came down in a dusty pillar, and you blinked as you adjusted to the light, coughing at the upheaval of dust that filled your lungs. Then you sucked in a gasp.

“Loki, come down here.”

“Alright, alright,” came his exasperated reply, and the sound of feet on hard earth told you he had landed behind you. He caught your shoulder for balance, removing it just as quickly so as not to offend. You were too distracted by your newfound boon to notice.

Barrels. Barrels and crates and _clothes_. Or some kind of fabric, anyway. Whoever was here decided to make a stash of their excess supply – from the looks of it, they had either forgotten to return or taken a long trip around.

“Bloody hell,” Loki swore quietly, twisting one of the barrel caps open and looking down at the contents. “There’s salt here.”

“Never mind that,” you said, unfolding a large piece of thick cotton. You swung it over your shoulders and displayed it to him the same way you might show off a dress, half-twirling with a giddy smile. “Now we won’t freeze to death at night.”

Loki chuckled, watching with something like amusement. “Your faith in me to take care of you was that little?”

“No,” you conceded, smirking, “but this helps.” You turned back and continued to rifle through the contents of your findings. There was grain, tightly packed to avoid going bad from the damp, and more textiles: homespun tunics, even a pair of trousers that you silently claimed as your own.

“Pity,” Loki commented over your shoulder, startling you. “I was looking forward to our mutual lack of clothing.”

Your jaw dropped as your face turned red. “Really? You haven’t yet had your fill?”

You were met with that infuriating, wolfish grin and an unabashed shrug. “The threat of death tends to steal away one’s focus.”

You scowled. “I _meant_ of your jesting, not the--” you waved your hand in an inarticulate gesture, earning a laugh on his part.

“That, too.”

You groaned and pulled one of the tunics over your head, ignoring the slightly musty smell. It had clearly been made with someone larger in mind, and almost replaced your chemise in function. Still, with this company, an extra layer couldn’t hurt.

Your face burned like a lamp in the dark. The threat of death, and then relief, and _then_ focus on staying alive had precluded you from spending any time dwelling on your dreams or feelings. Now they were coming back with full, brunt force. You felt the absence of the ring from your finger more than ever, touching the bare skin.

You heard shuffling behind you and turned around to watch Loki lift himself out and offer his hand so you could do the same. You handed him a bundle of clothes first, taking his hand once he set your bounty aside. Despite his soreness Loki lifted you out easily, helping you stand in the grove of trees. He was close, you noticed. You could feel the heat of his bare chest, smell that faint scent of leather and rose that seemed to accompany him no matter his state of undress.

He looked down at you, watched your eyes flicker before you pulled away and gathered the textiles. He shifted his jaw, catching his tongue between his teeth; partly in silent annoyance, and partly to keep himself from making another insufferable comment. Even you had your limits.

He knew how your body felt, clinging to him in the water for hours. For the sake of saving your life Loki had been allowed the discovery of how soft you were against his calloused hands, the way your breath came out and made your chest shudder. He hadn’t sought out the knowledge of you on purpose, but it was his nonetheless. Now he itched for the feel of you in his hands. Like anything Loki had ever sampled, and liked, one taste wasn’t enough– he longed to swallow you whole, to know you inside and out. To make your breath hitch and your heart pound.

And the universe had rewarded him with your company, alone, on a desert island. He was convinced that some part of you shared that mutual desire, even if you refused to admit it. What Loki needed was patience, and time, and enough self-control not to push you into hating him through his own snide remarks. The last one hadn’t even been _clever._

His mind didn’t register that you were halfway through the grove and nearly out of sight until you stopped, turning around with a frown. “Are you coming?”

He snapped out of his thoughts of you and met with the reality: waiting expectantly under the dappled light, sun-dried hair pulled by the breeze. An open sky full of air, and the sight of you made it a struggle to breathe.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Don’t wait for me.”

~

The sky was turning muted purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. You finished adjusting your new clothes– the trousers had to be cuffed, of course, and the tunic was sinfully low-cut, with no tassels to make adjustments – but it was better than your chemise, which you had neatly folded next to the other unused garments, now in service as cushions to soften the cave’s unforgiving floor.

You stepped out and walked through the grove to the beach, finding Loki there with a meager fire before him. He was coaxing it to life, encouraging it to take hold of your collected driftwood. You sat down in the sand and pulled the cotton cloth over your shoulders, watching in silence until the fire was crackling happily on its own.

Loki handed you a speared fish to cook over the fire. The afternoon had finally proved fruitful in his attempts to catch something. You took it. The two of you sat in silence, turning over your dinner to brown the sides and eating in silence. The fish was salty, but it was your first real meal in god knew how long.

The stars were coming out. You leaned back on your elbows to watch them appear, silently counting until they became innumerable, blinking in the twilight. You thought back to the book in Loki’s cabin, feeling a pang of regret that it wasn’t with you now. You wished you knew their names.

Loki made a sudden noise, startling you from your thoughts. You turned to find his seaglass eyes skyward, too. “What is it?”

He leaned closer to you and lifted his arm, pointing out a bright light amongst the canopy of stars. “The north star.”

You opened your mouth in silent acknowledgement. Its name was on the tip of your tongue. “Why that one?”

Loki’s brow furrowed gently. “Because it shines the brightest, I suppose.” He sighed, falling back and putting his hands behind his head, reciting the wisdom from memory. “If you can find Polaris, you know your way home.”

_Polaris._ You savored the name silently on your tongue. “Do you?” You asked, turning away from the stars to look at his face. The starlight and shadow of the fire softened the sharp edges of his features. Loki’s brow furrowed again, and he turned to look at you. “Do I what?”

“Know the way home.”

He hummed in his chest and looked back at the sky with a critical gaze, studying it. He held up one large hand, and after some consideration, pointed to your left. “That way.”

You were surprised at the laugh that escaped your lips, throwing back your head. “How helpful you are. I see now why I should keep you around.”

Loki chuckled in his chest. “I am ever at your service, little one.”

The familiar nickname made your stomach flutter. You dropped from your elbows onto your back, setting your hands on your stomach and doing your best to ignore the fact that his shoulder was pressed against yours.

The fire crackled and sparked, sending embers up into the dark sky where both your gazes were fixed. Loki shifted his jaw and tried to focus: on the warmth of the fire lightly burning against his skin, on the chill of the night breeze and the smell of salt. Anything but the warmth of your skin beneath the fabric that separated you.

A streak of light graced the darkness. He made a wish.

“Well, then,” you sighed, nestling further into the makeshift blanket and letting your eyes fall closed. “What do you think we should do with our time, stuck here for the foreseeable future?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I have a few ideas.”

You hummed. “Tell me.”

His chest expanded with an inhale. “You need to learn to swim, to begin with.”

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up, leaning on your elbow to look over him with a stony expression. “Absolutely not.”

“Your ardent refusal is the first reason why.”

“Loki, I was in mortal danger of drowning less than a day ago.”

“That is exactly my point,” he argued evenly, staring up at you with a mild expression. The firelight cast you in a warm, angelic glow that turned his cheeks red to notice. He continued his statement with averted eyes. “You cannot expect to live on a desert island without knowing how to swim.”

“Can’t I?” You challenged, more for the sake of egging him on. Loki wasn’t having it, and growled in his chest as he closed his eyes. “I am too tired for your antics.”

You quieted, staring at his face for a moment longer before dropping onto your back again. The wind picked up, dimming the fire and making you shiver through your cotton wrap. You turned closer to Loki, setting your forehead against his arm. If he noticed, he did nothing in return. You had a suspicion that he was close to falling asleep.

“You had better be a good teacher,” you murmured. You felt him shift beside you, roused by your statement. Then he chuckled softly. “Do you doubt my ability to take care of you?” He asked, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. Your face flushed. The one time you suspected that he didn’t mean it as a double entendre, but you had taken it that way.

In either instance, your answer was the same.

“No. I trust you.”

“Smart girl.”


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for bearing with me during my long hiatus! ♡

“I don’t like this idea,” you said, standing knee-deep in shallow water with the fabric of your chemise bunched in your fists. 

As far as the weather was concerned, your second day on the island was even lovelier than the last: clear blue skies with sparse clouds, a warm wind, and still water. However, this wasn’t a comfort to you– Loki insisted on teaching you to swim as soon as the sun was high. Considering the small size of your island, it wasn’t as though you could hide from him. The water was a pleasant relief from the sun, but you weren’t about to admit that as you stood knee-deep, staring at the ripples with apprehension.

Loki uncrossed his arms and sighed, taking your hands without asking and stepping backwards. Your face burned at the physical contact. The cold waves raised goosebumps on your skin as Loki led you deeper, each step putting you further into the mercy and good graces of the ocean. Your body tensed.

Your anxiety didn’t escape him, and he sighed, stopping once the water reached your waist. “We’ll start here.” Loki moved to let go of your hands and you let out a small queak of terror, latching onto his forearms for dear life. He half-scoffed, half-laughed, looking down at you in amusement. “Stop trembling. You won’t drown.”

“Oh, you underestimate me,” you rebutted stubbornly, refusing to loosen your grip. You could see your feet beneath you, toes dug into the sand, distorted in the water’s reflection.

Loki sighed again, more out of annoyance this time, and moved around you while your eyes were lowered. His arm slipped from your grasp and replaced itself at your waist too quickly for you to realize its absence, and then he was standing behind you, your back to his chest. You could feel the warmth of his bare skin through the thin fabric of your chemise, and your face flushed. “What are you–”

“I have you,” he reassured you. “You have to trust me.” 

You considered this as the waves pushed your body gently back and forth, held fast by Loki’s arms around your waist. You had no reason to believe that he wouldn’t keep you safe. Slowly, reluctantly, you surrendered, dropping your shoulders and letting out a tight breath of air. “Alright.”

He hummed, and you felt it against your back. “You have to float before you can swim,” he explained. “I’m going to lay you out on your back; your only task is to keep breathing.” His voice was less hoarse than yesterday, but still held a pleasantly graveling quality, like he’d just woken up. You tried not to think about it, and focus instead on the actual words coming out of his mouth: “Is that simple enough for you?”

You nodded. Loki started to lift you up – your hands went automatically to his arms around your waist – but at his reproachful gaze you let go and let him continue. Loki lifted you up with one arm, scooping you up beneath your knees with the other, holding you like a bride against his chest. The water was at your shoulders, but being held firmly within his grasp kept you calm, and you linked one arm around his shoulder, letting the other float in the water. 

“What now?” You ventured, looking up at his face and silently noting the sharp edge of his jaw, and the way his dark eyelashes caught in the sun. 

He sighed, looking down at you, his dark hair falling over his shoulder in gentle waves. “Now, we see whether or not you trust me as much as you claim to, little one.”

It was an arduous process. Loki tolerated your panic, showing endless patience at every turn. He repeated his instructions as many times as you needed to hear them, his voice low and calming. If your stubbornness and unnecessary fretting frustrated him, it didn’t show; if anything, he seemed to almost be enjoying himself. You weren’t sure if it was sadism, or perhaps the possibility that he actually liked your company. For the sake of your sanity, you weren’t going to entertain the idea of the latter. 

By the time the sun reached midday, shining golden against the robin’s egg sky, you could float with only your hand linked to Loki’s. Your eyes were squinted against the bright light, focused on breathing evenly, reminding yourself now and again to ignore the rise of anxiety in your throat that came whenever a large wave moved beneath you.

“You can come up,” Loki said finally. You surged upwards and clung to him gratefully, looping your arms around his neck and eliciting a chuckle from his lips. Loki’s hands moved to grip your thighs, holding your legs around his waist. Your face burned, and you hid it by turning away from him. The sunlight sparkled on the waves.

“Well, all we can do now is practice,” he sighed, speaking to you as he looked out at the horizon. “Kicking your legs, moving your arms. The water here is calm.”

“Haven’t I done enough today?” You complained, resting your cheek on his shoulder. His skin was warm from the sun. Loki hummed noncommittally, and then stepped further out into the water.

Your grip tightened and you pulled away from his shoulder in alarm, looking him in the face. “Loki, wait. _Loki_. What are you doing?”

“Only a few steps,” He assured you, raising one eyebrow. The waves were up to your chest now. “Easier to swim out here.”

“I’m not letting go.”

Loki’s sea-green eyes narrowed, and he stopped, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs and making you shiver. You watched the gears of his mind turn like a timepiece, elegant and complicated. Finally, he sighed. “Will you at least loosen your grip?”

You unlocked your hands from behind his neck guiltily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Before you could finish your apology, Loki’s hands were gone from you, and he dropped you without a word of warning. Your gasp of horror meant a mouthful of saltwater, and you surged upwards, gasping and coughing when you resurfaced.

“You – You _snake_!” You spluttered, splashing him with water. “I despise you, I loathe your guts–” You stopped suddenly, before realizing two things: first, that Loki was laughing, and second, you were treading water entirely on your own.

Your sudden pause only made him laugh more: the same clear, ringing laughter that you’d first heard in the bar at St. Thomas. His wolfish smirk and clear vindication, as infuriating as it was, made it impossible for you not to smile, and you felt your heart soften a little inside your ribs.

Loki reached out and took your hand, reeling you back to him. He held you against him with his fingers splayed across the small of your back, the other hand tucked beneath your knee, and his expression turned slightly more humble. “I am sincerely sorry,” He apologized, smirking in a way that made your chest tighten. “But I have a feeling that you’ll forgive me for my trespasses.”

Your thoughts turned to his hands, and to your legs linked snugly around his waist, and your face flushed. “Well, one of us has to be civilized,” you mumbled, twisting your hair over your shoulder and separating the strands. Anything to avoid looking at his handsome face, to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his raven curls and kissing him senseless.

_Stupid_, you thought. _As if I know how to kiss. _

Loki watched your expression shift slightly as the silence stretched on. His brows pulled together. Your thoughts were a mystery to him, even when you were held close in his arms and warm beneath his touch. Perhaps he had gone too far.

He inhaled quickly, raising his eyebrows. “Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “To be fair, we are no longer in civilization. Our island, our rules.”

You hummed, the corner of your mouth turning up in amusement. “You’re not going to put a sword to my neck and demand my forgiveness?”

He scoffed and shook his head, smirking lightly. “No,” he said, reaching up and raking his long fingers through his hair. “I’d rather earn it.”

Your stomach flipped. For a moment you were lost for words. “How do you plan on doing that?” You asked, once you found your tongue.

He grinned. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll think of something.”

~

Pieces of splintered wood began to appear on the shore the next morning.

Neither of you commented on the likely possibility that what washed ashore could very well be pieces of your ship. You and Loki put to use what you could, and burned what you could not; firewood, as it turned out, was difficult to find on an island where both kindling and shade were valuable commodities. Your little hideaway beneath the rocky overhang now had planked walls to block the wind, and offer you an illusion of privacy, which was rather ironic; the two of you were alone on the island. There was no one to shield yourselves from but each other.

And so the two of you developed a routine. You woke up to sunlight coming through the cracks of the wooden planks, went out and had breakfast and swam in the shallows. Loki usually went with you, either to catch more fish with one of the nets that washed ashore or simply to survey your progress. You never went past where your feet couldn’t touch – not unless he was out with you, offering himself as something to cling to when you exhausted yourself. You got used to the feeling of his hands around your waist, holding you secure amidst the waves. The afternoon was usually too hot to stay in the sun for long, so you spent it exploring the island. There was a waterfall, you discovered, barely a stream, but it meant both your lives; you and Loki couldn’t survive on fish and wild fruit alone. You cooked food in the evenings, storing any extra dried fish in the barrels inside the hideaway. The nights came with fireside talk, until you returned to your shelter to sleep. Rinse, and repeat. 

You lost track of the days, but after all, they didn’t really matter. The only thing that changed was the potency of your feelings. The more time you spent with Loki, the more ardently your feelings of attraction pressed against your stomach and made you feel nauseous whenever they surfaced. The pirate you met in the tavern who was devilishly handsome and vicious in his teasing seemed a little more subdued out here, more tangible. Everything about him kept you grounded. Being on a desert island, when you were with a man like him, wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

This morning, there was no sun coming through the cracks in the wood – it was too early for that. You blinked slowly, shifting on the makeshift bed of burlap and fabric, turning your head. To your surprise, Loki was still beside you, turned away as his chest rose and fell. His raven curls were splayed out, arm tucked beneath his head. You sat up and studied him in silence, pushing your hair away from your face. You were used to waking up in the hideaway alone. For a moment you entertained the idea of lying back down and sidling up to him, running your fingers through the hair that you knew to be silky smooth and drinking in the smell of leather rose that was always on his skin. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered violently.

You couldn’t bear to be so close to him. It was driving you mad.

You stood up, picking up one of the cotton shirts and pulling it on over your chemise. You took one final look at Loki’s sleeping figure, pressed your lips together, and ducked beneath the burlap flap that hung from the doorway. 

Once you stepped outside, you realized that it wasn’t as early as you’d previously thought: the sky was merely overshadowed by dark, billowing clouds running fast across the sky. Warm wind whipped through the trees, pushing your clothes against your legs and tangling your hair into loose knots. The air smelled like rain.

If it was going to storm, you might as well spend some time outside while you could.

You made your way through the palms, walking through the undergrowth and taking care not to step on any rocks. The trees gradually receded as you climbed higher, until you broke through the vegetation and came to the top of the hill that overlooked the island.

It was quite a sight. The world was open all around you, the entire horizon visible in one dark, unbreaking line. The sea was black all around you, not quite storming yet, but it would be. The clouds were low and cauliflower-topped, their edges glowing russet gold as low thunder reverberated in your chest. You held your hair back and sighed against the warm wind. Standing on firm ground, the weather didn’t frighten you as much as it did before. You were merely a bystander in its wake.

Suddenly lightning split the sky above you and thunder clapped all at once, causing you to shriek and fall to the ground. Fat drops of rain hit your head, coming down in ones, two’s, three’s, and then all at once. Before you knew it, you were drenched. You stumbled to your feet, blinking the water out of your eyes and quickly descending the hill. More lightning flashed just as you ducked beneath the trees. You covered your ears, but it didn’t dull the noise, and your heart rattled inside your ribcage as you flew towards home.

Okay – maybe you were still frightened.

Back in your hideaway, the sudden rumble of thunder jolted Loki from sleep. He exhaled and turned over with a grunt, reaching out to hold you; the storm on the ship had frightened you, and there was a chance this one did, too. But only burlap fabric met his touch. Loki’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, and looked around your hideaway: stacks of driftwood against the wall, barrels, fabric and clothes – but no sign of you.

He called your name, but you didn’t answer. The rain started to pour, coming down against the earth like a drum. Wind spun the sheet that covered the doorway, and wind blew against his back. Loki’s blood ran cold. Panic rose in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Where were you? 

The wind turned cold and your clothes stuck to your skin as more rain came down through the palms. You skidded against the grass as you turned a corner, praying that you had turned the right way. The clouds made everything feel like dusk: hard to see, and growing darker fast. The palm trees creaked and groaned as the wind bent them back and forth, and you ran, fearing that one might crack and fall. This was the right way, wasn’t it? You stopped, turned around, and tried to regain your sense of direction. All the trees looked the same. The island wasn’t _that_ big; how could you possibly be lost?

A huge clap of thunder jolted you violently from your thoughts and you shrieked, picking a direction and running. You ducked below the branches and leapt over outcroppings of stone, so fast that you felt like your legs might be swept out from underneath you, until suddenly the line of trees broke and you were on the beach. Frothing waves crashed against the sand in thunderous noise as the warm rain pelted your skin, and you stood there catching your breath as the dark clouds flashed. You weren’t far from the shelter now. 

You took a breath and started again. The sand was wet and pulled at your feet, slowing your pace until you finally hit grass again and followed the well-trodden path back to your hideaway.

You spotted the planks and slowed, skidding on the grass and ducking under the flap. You immediately collided with the wall of Loki’s chest and yelped at the same time he did, losing your balance. 

Loki caught your arms to keep you from falling and then moved you aside none-too-gently, ignoring you for the moment. He lifted one of the spare planks from its place against the stone wall and used it to block the doorway, where the burlap sheet was flapping madly in the wind. The spray of rainwater loose dirt blowing in stopped, hitting the wood instead and muting the noise outside.

You were shivering violently, dripping water onto the cool stone floor and grimacing as you tried to pull off your cotton shirt. Loki turned and pulled your hands roughly away, his gaze set in steel as he peeled your shirt off himself. 

“What were you thinking?? Are you mad?!” He demanded, helping get your arms out.

You immediately clutched your chest once it was off. “I don’t know!” You said, your teeth chattering. You watched him turn away from you, looking for something dry for you to wear. “You were asleep, I didn’t–”

“I was about to go look for you, do you know how dangerous it is to go out alone in weather like this?!” 

You felt anger flare up in your chest as you stood there. “I’m not _stupid_!!”

“No?” He challenged, looking around and finding nothing suitable. So he reached up, pulling off his black shirt, and holding it out to you with a flat expression. “You could have fooled me.” 

“I wasn’t swimming,” you explained, taking his shirt, which was still warm from his skin. “I went out for a walk, and the storm came out of nowhere–”

Your excuses clearly weren’t abating him. “Just because we’re not at sea does not make it any less dangerous,” he insisted. “You have no idea what could have happened.”

Loki averted his gaze from you then, and you realized belatedly that your white chemise was almost entirely see-through. You quickly changed into his shirt while he was turned away. It smelled like him. Once you put it on, the hem fell just below mid-thigh, which was nothing short of scandalous, but you didn’t care. 

You pushed the sleeves up and glared at him. “You don’t know what could’ve happened, either. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He turned back to look down at you, and clenched his jaw. He watched as you wrung out your hair, your eyelashes wet and face flushed from the cold. His heart twisted inside his chest. The anger and panic inside him fizzled down to a feeling deeper and more difficult to ignore, pressing ardently against the inside of his ribs. 

He loathed you for capturing his heart without knowing it, for commanding its every rise and fall with a turn of phrase or a sideways glance. He was tired of waking up beside you and not being allowed to hold you. His mind was exhausted from coming up with excuses to touch you, even in things as meager as brushing hands.

Waking up and realizing you were gone – feeling that panic inside his throat, that unearthly sense of dread – had forced Loki into reality like being dunked in ice water: whether he liked it or not, he couldn’t live without you, nor could he pretend otherwise. Even as you straightened up, catching his gaze with a defiant expression and every intention to argue with him, his resolve was crumbling underneath him. 

“What?” You demanded, starting to feel flustered. “If you’re going to say something–”

Loki’s hands cupped your face and he was kissing you.


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sending lots of love and social-distance hugs to everyone ♡

You had to be dreaming. Your imagination had gone too far; in no conceivable way could Loki be kissing you, _certainly_ not when you had just been fighting – 

And yet his lips were ardently pressed to yours, tasting of sweet wild fruit and tangy saltwater. His shoulders curled forward and his hands held your face with something akin to desperation – like if he didn’t keep you there, you would pull away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you reached up and tangled your hands in the raven curls of his hair, dragging him down further. Your heart was beating out of your chest: you’d never done this before, and you didn’t want it to show. So you followed his lead, moving your lips in rhythm, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs against his cheekbones, so sharp they could cut glass.

A clap of thunder pulled you both apart with a gasp, and you found yourself held tightly against his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck. Loki cradled your head with one hand and held you at the waist with the other. You could hear the hard and fast pounding of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” he began, sounding full of remorse. “You weren’t here when I woke, I had no idea where you’d gone–”

You pulled away and put your fingers over his lips, silencing him. Loki’s brow furrowed in surprise, but you kept your hand there, and took a shaky breath. “Kiss me.”

Your voice came out much more confident than you expected, and you watched his eyes darken. Your hand dropped from his mouth; staring up at him in the low light, feeling the heat that radiated off his chest, you suddenly felt very small.

Loki’s gaze dropped to your lips; he leaned down. his nose brushed against yours. He reached up to tuck an errant strand of your hair back, lingering behind your ear before cupping your chin and lifting it to meet him. 

He kissed you again, as the rain came down in droves outside. Kissing Loki was like drinking wine; sweet and utterly intoxicating. Your senses were flooded with his scent, the taste of his lips, the touch of his elegant hands as they roamed down your sides. You wound your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against him. You wanted him to touch you, to ease the ache and quell the knot in your stomach. You knew now beyond any doubt that he wanted it, too. Badly. You could tell by the way his breath caught when you snagged his lower lip between your teeth, by his fingers digging into your skin, and by the dark look in his eyes before he lifted you into his arms. 

You linked your legs around Loki’s waist as he sank to his knees, laying you out on the layers of fabric that separated you from the cold stone. He leaned down and began pressing languid kisses to your neck, taking his sweet time until you were shivering with anticipation. His breath fanned on your neck and you moaned involuntarily, right before his teeth grazed the skin above your collarbone with an unexpected sharpness. 

You jolted with a surprised yelp. He pulled away quickly, running his hand down your arm and twining his fingers with yours. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, face burning. “Just– be gentle,” you pleaded, in a voice so small it hardly sounded like your own. You dropped your eyes and swallowed. “I’m not exactly well-versed… at all.” 

Loki sat up and regarded you with a silent smirk, setting a hand on your knee. “_Really_? You?”

You scowled and aimed a kick at his chest. He deflected it easily, catching your ankle in his hand. “Don’t mock me!”

“I wasn’t,” he insisted, returning your leg to its rightful place around his waist. Despite the teasing inflection in his voice, Loki’s sea-green eyes were honest. He ran his hand up your thigh and raised his eyebrow. “I was only wondering at how someone so innocent managed to utterly bewitch me.”

Your stomach flipped, and you averted your gaze, pulling at the dark, puffed fabric of your sleeves, which fell far past your hands if you didn’t push them up. The rain drummed against the ground outside, overshadowed by the occasional rumble of thunder. Lying with him between your legs was dredging up all kinds of unprompted emotions in your chest. Nervousness and the sudden fear of inadequacy pushed to the forefront of your mind as you laid there. You hadn’t done this before, and he… well, he was undoubtedly the opposite. “Your options are considerably limited,” you pointed out quietly. 

Loki paused and narrowed his eyes. He pulled you into a sitting position in his lap, shaking his hair back from his shoulders. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden, intimate contact and quickly looked away as your face burned.

“You think I consider you a last resort?” He asked. When your gaze stayed averted, he tilted his head to the side to meet it, and reached up to catch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

You met his eyes reluctantly, staring back at him with a degree of apprehension. Loki studied your face in silence, and then pressed a gentle, faint kiss to your lips. He pulled away before you could deepen it, and hummed in amusement at the noise you made when he withdrew. His chest expanded with his breath, running his hands down to grip your thighs. 

“I have used every measure of my resolve not to take you, long before we came to be here,” he said quietly, his voice so low and heavy that it was almost a growl. “Trust me when I say you are nothing close to a last resort. You have tormented me since the night I met you, given me pain in my chest that no physician could cure. I am not a man who typically denies myself the pleasures of good company. But you…” He paused and tucked your hair back, trailing his finger down from cheek to collarbone, dragging a slow, straight line down the center of your chest. “You are no fleeting interest.” 

At this, you felt your heart jump into your throat. You stared at him like a wide-eyed fawn, your breath coming fast and faint through your nose. At the same time as you wanted this, it frightened you; but you trusted Loki. Against your better judgement, you always had. Even as the thunder rumbled outside and his grip on your thighs instinctively tightened, you knew that he would obey your every request, fulfill your desire and soothe the heat pooling between your legs. The man who both frightened and aroused you was, in truth, wrapped around your little finger.

“So take me,” you whispered. “Earn my forgiveness.” 

Loki’s eyebrows raised and then he laughed, musical and loud as it filled the room, made sweeter by his kiss against your lips while he was still smiling. “Clever, little one,” he murmured. “I knew you’d think of something.” The two of you met each other’s eyes as another bout of thunder rumbled outside, and you felt like you’d been struck by lightning, buzzing with white-hot energy that you couldn’t keep bottled away. 

You kissed him with everything you had. You’d held yourself back for too long, and you didn’t care if your hunger showed. There was a sweet satisfaction in his surprised intake of breath, but he was quick to meet you with the same fervor. Your hands trailed down his bare sides, feeling the lithe muscle beneath. Of course you’d known before now that Loki’s body was fighting fit, but running your finger down the center of his chest and feeling his skin flex reactively put it in a different light. Every inch of him was put to good use.

You gradually slid backwards and off his lap as your trail of exploratory kisses led you further down. You hoped he couldn’t feel how shaky your breath was against his skin, and pressed your lips to one of the lingering bruises against his ribs. Sitting between his legs, your hand rested on his thigh, where you could feel tight muscle beneath the fabric of his pants. His obvious arousal hadn’t escaped you, either. You were pointedly aware of it when you’d been sitting on his lap, and as your eyes dropped to it now you felt your heart leap into your throat with another surge of nervousness. 

You felt his large hand run through your hair, fingers tangling loosely and pulling just enough to make you look up at him. Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, brushing his nose down yours. “Turn around.” 

His growled instruction made you shiver, and you hesitantly obeyed, turning away from. You didn’t have time to wait and wonder at his reasoning before he gathered you up in his arms and returned you to your original place on his lap, this time with your back pressed flush against his bare chest. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around your waist. The other travelled down and drew up the curtain of dark fabric falling over your thighs. His knuckles ghosted the skin of your stomach beneath your shirt. 

You inhaled quickly and stiffened. Loki stopped, though he didn’t remove his hand; instead he set his forehead against yours, nose brushing your cheek. “It’s alright,” he reassured you, stroking his fingers over your skin back and forth, slowly, trailing up your sternum and back down your lower abdomen, where the heat was tight and tense beneath your skin. His steady breathing and low voice soothed your nerves until you relaxed.

Loki slipped his hand between your legs and you whimpered, hiding your face against his neck. You could hear him murmuring soothing turns of phrase, rubbing gentle circles as he spoke. It felt like everything you’d dreamed magnified thrice over. But this wasn’t a dream. The smell of him, the heat coming off his skin and the electricity of his touch where you wanted it most: all of it was very, _very_ real. He continued his ministrations until you were squirming beneath his touch, begging for friction and crying out for release. Your pleas came to a halt when he pushed one finger inside you, replaced with a sound you didn’t know you could make. He said something comforting, but you didn’t catch it, and your train of thought vanished entirely when he added a second finger. His thumb stayed pressed against you and rubbing circles against your sex, sending sparks shooting across your vision.

You were beginning to reach an unholy level of desperation: gasping and panting, grinding against him as he took you closer to release. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough and low against your ear. It was only a few more skilled strokes before you suddenly lurched. Your nails dug into his arm and you let out a strangled cry as your muscles contracted and the buildup of tension released. Loki let you ride it out with his fingers still inside you, holding you steady while you spasmed and quaked. He brushed the baby hairs back that were stuck to your forehead, murmuring “easy, darling,” as he waited for your orgasm to abate.

He released you from his grip once you stilled. You sat there for a moment, legs still shaking as you caught your breath. He kissed the soft skin of your shoulder, calling your attention to him once more, and you turned around to meet him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He laid you down with every measure of carefulness; even though it was burlap and uncut fabric that met your back, it might as well have been a feather bed. The one curling strand that often fell into his eyes tickled your skin when he dipped down to kiss you, the rest of his hair falling to the side. His tongue teased your bottom lip and you opened for him without hesitation, letting him explore your mouth and moan against it.

Like you had done to him earlier, Loki’s lips eventually wandered: pressing against your neck, shoulder, chest. He pushed up your shirt to kiss the skin beneath, but didn’t remove it, traveling until he reached your legs. With a dark look and a mischievous smile, Loki drew up your leg and ravished your inner thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin until it was flushed and red. Where his teeth had been shocking earlier, you were moaning now, toes curled and breath coming out fast. You were barely recovered from your first orgasm, and yet your stomach was already twisted and aching again. 

He sat up and drew your knees apart, reaching down and freeing himself from his only remaining article of clothing. Butterflies fluttered violently against your ribs at the sight of him. Loki teased at your entrance a few times before he pushed forward, shuddering as he filled you. You gasped and tightened on instinct, more out of reflex than anything else. You were more than ready for him; there was no sting. He paused, but you shook your head quickly, reaching for his hand. “It’s alright,” you whispered, and you both shared a breathless smirk in the irony that it was your turn to comfort him now. 

Loki leaned down and kissed you, and the two of you savored the connection. It was like you were made to fit perfectly; he stretched you to your limit. Loki stayed still and waited for you to adjust, his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Fuck,” he muttered, holding your waist so that you fit snugly against his hips. You could feel his nerves buzzing, but you knew he wouldn’t budge until your say-so.

The knot in your stomach was winding tight again. You rolled your hips against him. Loki’s breath snagged in surprise, and then he laughed. “Patience isn’t one of your virtues, I take it.” He pulled out slowly, and then pushed into you again. Your head fell back with a groan, twisting the burlap in your fingers. Your fantasies didn’t hold a candle to this, so good and _right_ that it was almost overwhelming. Loki tortured you with his slow rhythm until you were squirming, fruitlessly rolling your hips to urge him forward. But he went at his own pace, somehow knowing exactly what you needed from him, and never surrendering it. He kept you on the edge of release, speeding up and then slowing again until you were begging him, please’s falling from your lips like the rain drumming against the grass outside. 

Finally he relented, throwing your legs over his shoulders and driving into you mercilessly. The knot in your stomach tightened and twisted, climbing until you couldn’t anymore, and for the second time, you shattered. Loki sped up when you tightened around him, spurning on your climax and pounding you relentlessly until he, too, broke, spilling inside you with a string of curses and a few more sporadic jerks of his hips. The two of you stayed there, still connected and gasping for breath. 

You laid there for uncounted minutes, listening to the rain and your still-pounding heartbeat. Your mind was out floating somewhere in the middle of the sea, reluctant to come back to reality. You didn’t have any intention to go fetch it. For all you cared, this moment could last forever.

You were vaguely aware of Loki’s gentle touch as he gathered you up in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You did so well for me, little one.” He pulled away to look at you, his expression playfully wicked. “Did I earn your forgiveness?” 

Your face flushed. You dropped your head against his shoulder and sighed. “I…” Your thoughts were still scattered and reluctant; you doubted you could form a full sentence if you tried. Much less walk on your trembling legs. Your fingers played with the locks of hair behind his ear, twisting and letting them go. “Yes.” You closed your eyes.

Loki set his chin atop your head and watched the rain fall through the cracks outside. The wind had lessened, and the thunder was less frequent. Some part of him suspected if the weather had whipped itself into a frenzy only to bring you together. If that was the case, he should pray and thank the clouds above for the rest of his life.

There was a strange feeling in his chest, different from the ache before. He didn’t feel wanting; in fact, it may have been the first time in his life when he couldn’t think of what he wanted. Nothing came to mind. You were curled up against him, and breathing softly, arms linked around his neck. He reached up and ran his fingers through your hair. You sighed softly in a way that made his heart twist, and he recognized the name of the feeling running rampant through his veins and pressing against his chest.

Loki was content. No – he was _happy_. 

You felt him sigh and lifted your head, looking up at him. “What is it?” 

You watched his handsome brow furrow, and then he smirked. “I would normally curse weather like this, but I’m thankful for it now. We might have danced around each other for eternity otherwise.” He leaned down and snatched up the corner of a blanket, bringing it over your shoulders as he spoke.

You sat up in his lap and pulled it over your chest, before leaning back down and setting your cheek against him again. You were beginning to think of his shoulder as your new favorite pillow. “It would’ve happened eventually,” you declared. “If I kissed you first.” 

“Is that so?” He asked, laughing boyishly. “Just how long did _you_ spend pining away in agony?”

“Too long,” you admitted with a grumble, which only made him laugh again. His hand ran lightly up and down your back. You reached up and pulled a lock of hair over his shoulder, twisting it around your finger. Scarcely a few hours ago you left your hideaway because you couldn’t bear to be so close to him; now you were here, held in his arms. Loki’s rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was like being gently rocked aboard a ship; you were close to falling asleep when he spoke again.

“I daresay we’ve been through the worst of it, you and I. What else could possibly happen? We’ve been thrown overboard,” He listed these off on his fingers. “Nearly drowned.”

“An arranged marriage on my part,” your muffled voice supplied.

He nodded in agreement. “Emotional agony,” he continued, and set his hand on his chest. “Driven to piracy on my part.”

You shook your head against his shoulder and laughed through your nose. “No, that was definitely a choice.”

“Well, piracy in my blood, then.”

“Hmm.” You spun his hair around your finger a final time and then tucked it back. “You’re no Charles Vane, even if you are his son.”

Loki hummed in agreement and kissed the top of your head. “Certainly not,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t hope to be. Beheadings aren’t my style of piracy, anyway.”

You laughed and closed your eyes as he pulled you tighter. Your mind was still awake, thinking on his words. You _had_ been through a great deal of turmoil. It seemed as though when anything could go wrong, it had – and yet all those events had lead you to this moment; you couldn’t find bitterness in your heart towards any of it. You had consigned yourself to adventure the very first time you descended from your window, back in St. Thomas. In a way, wasn’t this exactly what you asked for?

As you fell asleep, sated and truly satisfied for perhaps the first time that you could remember, you felt strangely at peace in your little hideaway, in the middle of a desert island. 

Loki was right. What else could possibly happen?


	14. XIV

Waking up to you in his arms was everything Loki had imagined it would be.

After thoroughly and pleasurably exhausting yourselves, you and Loki slept through the worst of the storm. You were still sound asleep on his chest, your breath coming out soft and sweet against his skin. Your limbs were twined and tangled under the coarse blanket, head tucked under his chin. You murmured occasionally, prompted by something in your dreams, and he stroked your hair in a slow, comforting motion. It was still raining outside.

As pleasant as this moment was, Loki’s thoughts slowly drifted away from clear waters and turned to darker subjects. If the two of you ever got back to the world – and that was a rather presumptuous if – your lives would have to change in order to survive. Loki had planned and perfected his secret trade for years under the noses of Odin and Thor; everything was watertight, every trip checked and double-checked, alibis memorized and signatures forged, all so that his ledger would remain clean. Loki existed at the center of a beautifully orchestrated web of lies. Piracy was a hanging crime; to say that one had to be cautious was a gross understatement.

You shifted, and Loki held his breath, waiting for you to settle again. Your hair tickled beneath his chin and he smirked. How someone could be so endearing while unconscious was a mystery to him; but his smile faded again, replaced once more by a deep and pensive frown. 

He had to figure out where you fit in his plan. Otherwise, unlikely salvation from deserted island life would land you right back in the hot water of an arranged marriage; one that Loki doubted he could save you from without simultaneously exposing himself. 

“If,” Loki reminded himself aloud, sighing and closing his eyes. He would think of a solution; he always did.

Any remaining thoughts of his were disturbed by your soft yawn and stretch, limbs shaking when you extended them. He felt you stiffen when you realized where you were, and he chuckled when you relaxed again.

You reached up and tucked your hair back, sliding off his chest and sitting up. “Good morning,” you said softly, leaning on your arm and looking down at him. Loki opened one eye and smiled up at you.

“Not quite.”

Your brow furrowed. “It’s not good?”

He chuckled, closing his eye and taking your hand in his to hold against his chest; you could feel his steady heartbeat against your palm. “It’s very good,” he agreed, “But not morning. Closer to mid-afternoon, I believe.”

You hummed in understanding and looked out through the cracks in the wooden boards. “Still raining. Do you think it’ll let up soon?”

Loki sat up and ran his hand through his hair, pressing a slow kiss to the skin below your ear, and you shivered. “Do you have somewhere pressing to be?” You scoffed lightly and pushed his shoulder, which naturally didn’t budge. “No. We just have very little to do when the weather is bad.”

“One very entertaining article was recently added to the list.”

You looked at him flatly, and he captured your lips in a kiss while you were turned to face him. It was impossible not to melt against him, and it took a few seconds – and a few more insistent kisses – before you managed to pull yourself away. 

“It was,” you admitted, pushing an errant wave of his raven hair back. “Though I think you’ll understand that I’m keen on keeping my ability to walk.”

Loki smirked and tilted his head back to watch as you stood to your feet, laughing when you had to catch yourself to stop your sore legs from wobbling. Your cheeks flushed and you glared at him, but his spirits weren’t dampened in the least, and he watched you walk away with a wolfish grin that you could feel even when turned around.

Loki dropped back down onto his elbows and sighed, stretching his legs languidly like a cat. “Very well,” he sighed, running one hand back through his thick hair. “What do you suggest for the time being?” 

You picked up the pair of pants lying folded on one of the barrels and pulled them on, leaning against the stone wall to roll up the cuffs. “I’m not sure,” you admitted, straightening up and putting your weight back against the wall. You covered your mouth when you yawned. “Perhaps we could–”

There was a loud rumble as the stone shifted. Loki’s breath caught as he watched the wall you were leaning against suddenly give away. You fell back with a shriek and vanished. 

He leapt up, calling your name running over. Loki’s feet skidded to a stop when he nearly fell through the same hole. It was dark all the way down to the bottom, easily twelve feet deep. What he now understood to be a false wall revealed a rickety, half-rotted wooden ladder descending to the base. He could see your silhouette sitting awkwardly and holding your leg. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine!” you called, in a high-pitched tone that wasn’t to be believed. Loki quickly snatched up a piece of driftwood and tore a piece of fabric, fashioning a torch and lighting a match. The flame sputtered to life, and Loki reached forward, testing his grip on the ladder. It was concerningly noisy, but held, and he descended without any further hesitation.

You listened to the sound of the ladder shaking and creaking, until his feet hit the packed earth floor. He knelt down next to you, brushing your hair back and pulling your hand away from your leg. “Let me see.”

You didn’t argue. Nothing was broken, but pulling up your pant leg revealed your shin to be reasonably beat up and bleeding. Loki reached under your arms and lifted you to your feet, holding you against him. You kept your weight on your good leg, inhaling through your teeth and trying to ignore the sting. “Well, this is lovely,” you mumbled, your arms wrapped around his torso.

Loki didn’t reply. He was staring curiously down the dirt tunnel that travelled further than the flickering light of his torch could illuminate. His seafoam eyes were dark and focused. You followed his gaze, and then looked up at him, tightening your grip. “What is it?”

“Why dig out something like this, and then put nothing in it?” He mused aloud, blinking in the dark. He seemed to remember that you were beside him and looked down. “Do you need to be carried?”

You hesitated, and then shook your head. Loki regarded you for a moment before nodding. He offered his hand, which you took, and started down the tunnel. It was cool and damp down here. Mangled roots stuck out of the dirt walls like hands reaching out to snag your clothes, and you gripped his hand a little tighter. It smelled deeply of soil and secrets. 

You could tell the gears of Loki’s mind were turning. “Do you think…” You suggested. “That this was made by the same people who stowed goods in that hideaway by the trees?” 

“I’d wager on it,” he agreed grimly. His face looked sharper in torchlight. Loki’s footsteps slowed to a stop as you reached the end of the tunnel: a wall of dirt, no different than any of the other walls.

You both stood and looked around silently until your leg started to ache. “Loki, there’s nothing here.” 

He tightened his jaw, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “The very least I’d expect is a body.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You shuddered in the dark, trying not to dwell on the idea of something as unpleasant as a half-rotted skeleton below your feet. You shifted your weight. “Well, it’s not going anywhere,” you pointed out quietly.

This seemed to rouse Loki from his stupor, and he nodded. “Yes. You’re right.” He let out a breath, releasing his pent-up frustration at the current puzzle before him, and turned back around. The two of you walked back silently, accompanied by nothing but the sound of your footsteps and the torch flickering as it burned. You reached the ladder and put your weight on it with a degree of caution, feeling your heart jump into your throat when it creaked, but you made it safely back to the top. 

You sat down on the stone floor of your hideaway and inhaled painfully through your teeth. Now that there was nothing to distract you, you were reminded of the cut on your shin. 

You heard the ladder shake and creak as Loki climbed up to meet you. As soon as he reached the top, he leapt to his feet and strode quickly over to the neatly folded stacks of fabric, ripping a long piece of linen from one of the sheets. You watched him move, as always, with a certain cat-like gait: his movements were efficient, but unique to him. You admired him silently. He was still notably absent of a shirt. His strong, broad shoulders tapered to narrow tips; the muscles beneath his skin flexed when he moved. It was a welcome relief to stare without having to do it out of the corner of your eye, afraid that you’d be caught; you could take him in unashamedly. 

Loki did catch your gaze, but when he did he only smirked, blowing air out of his nose. “Something on my face?” He asked, returning to you and kneeling down in front of your knees. Your stomach flipped involuntarily, suddenly reminded of the last time he’d been between your legs, and you forced yourself to focus on less explicit thoughts. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?” You countered.

“You’re allowed to do more than look,” he agreed lowly, holding your leg across his lap as he wrapped your shin with the strip of cloth. Despite the strength you knew they were capable of, his long fingers were notably tender as they brushed your skin. A strange feeling of possessiveness rose in your chest, and you leaned forward to kiss him, pressing your lips earnestly against his. 

You felt his breath leave his chest and he cupped your chin in one hand, returning your heated kiss with equal enthusiasm. When you pulled away, he looked a bit starstruck: his pupils blown and expression slack, unable to move for a moment. You’d clearly caught him off guard. He shook his head to clear it and chuckled a little, returning his attention to wrapping your leg. “What was that for?”

You smirked, leaning back on your hands. “I felt like doing it.” 

He raised an eyebrow and said nothing, though you could tell he was holding back a witty comment of some sort. He finished wrapping your leg and pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing up and walking towards the pit. 

You followed him with your eyes. “What are you doing?”

He knelt down and lifted his legs over the edge. “I’m going back down,” he said, like it was obvious. 

Anxiety rose in your throat at the thought of being parted from him. “What if the ladder breaks? And you’re stuck at the bottom?”

He looked back at you curiously, taking in your expression for a moment. His ocean eyes flickered, and the line of his mouth softened. He returned to you and knelt down, tucking an errant strand of your hair back.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Loki promised, addressing the unvoiced fear of yours that you hardly realized was there – but he had, in all his perceptiveness. “I won’t venture further than our voices allow. Though I know how loud you can be,” he added, smirking wickedly at the blush that rose to your cheeks. 

You nodded. He stood again, walking over to the opening once more. He took up the torch in one hand, tested the ladder with the other, and descended into the dark without hesitation. You watched him disappear, and waited with bated breath.

A few seconds later, Loki called your name. 

“I’m here!” you answered quickly. It was strange to talk to him without seeing his face, unable to read the micro-expressions that revealed the feelings behind his words.

“Good. Is it still raining?”

You turned your head and looked out, peering through the cracks in the wood. The giant palms were moving in the wind, but there was no sight nor sound of rain that you could tell. “I don’t think so.”

No answer. After a minute or so, you figured that Loki had ventured down the tunnel again. You sighed and laid back on the burlap, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. _What is he expecting to find down there?_ You wondered, thinking once more of the image of a skeleton hidden half-buried in dirt. You shuddered. You liked adventure, but perhaps not that kind.

You were waiting so long that your breath started to slow. Your eyes stayed closed a few seconds longer with every blink. You were nearly asleep when Loki’s hand on your arm jolted you from rest with a surprised shriek. 

He jerked back, holding his hands up in a gesture of good intention. “It’s just me.” At second glance, you realized his hands and chest were covered in dirt, and smudged on his face, too, making him look almost boyish. You sat up and pushed your hair back, rubbing the corners of your eyes. “What is it?”

He smiled excitedly, pressing his lips together, his sea-green eyes twinkling like the sun on cerulean waves. “I found something.”

A strange, contagious excitement filled your chest, and you gave him your hand. “Show me.”

~ 

Loki had left the torch at the end of the tunnel, which meant that your journey from the ladder was partly in the dark. You held tightly to his hand, which completely engulfed yours. Your eyes tried to make shapes in the dark, though you knew there was nothing but packed dirt ahead of you. When you spotted the light of the torch, flickering orange in the dark, it took all your self-control not to run towards it.

As you came closer to the end, you could see where Loki had dug into the earth. There was a pile of loose soil by one wall, and a knee-deep hole closer to the other. Loki let go of your hand and dropped to his knees, raising an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

You knelt down beside him and peered into the hole. Amidst the loose dirt and stones, there was the top of something solid, and wooden. The gears in your mind turned before suddenly coming to a conclusion, and you looked at Loki skeptically. “No. No, I don’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?” He laughed, gesturing to it. “You can open it if you like.”

“A buried treasure chest?” you said skeptically. The idea was entertaining, but that wasn’t something pirates actually did. Then again, Loki was a pirate. Wouldn’t he be the one to know?

Loki shrugged his shoulders and his raven hair fell forward. “Perhaps. Or it could be empty.” He shrugged. “What good would gold and riches do for us here, anyway?” His excitement seemed to fade at the thought, and your eyes widened in dismay. The last thing you wanted to do was dampen his spirits.

So you dropped into the hole and brushed the dirt off of the top of the wood, rapping it with your knuckles. It sounded hollow. You found the edges and dug around them, trying to find some kind of brass handle or other leverage point to lift it up. Loki stepped down beside you, his hands brushing against yours as he helped you finish digging it out. His nimble fingers found a handle on one side and pulled it up with a grunt, taking hold of both sides and setting it outside the hole. It was, sure enough, a box chest: made of old wood on its way to rotting, and metal clasps that had certainly seen better days. But the allure of what was inside it surpassed any outside impressions.

You lifted yourself out of the hole and waited for Loki to do the same, your fingers dancing to open it. He was clearly excited, too – you could see it in his eyes. He flipped the latch with a flair of drama, hovering above the lid, and with an exhale, moved to open it.

The cold and icy touch of a metal blade set itself on the back of your neck, and you froze.

“Thank you so much for doing all the hard work for us,” A low, unfamiliar voice drawled, raspy and nonchalant. Suddenly you felt like you were being suffocated by the dirt walls around you. Loki, who was within your line of sight, had a blade to his neck, too. His eyes were wide, hands raised in a sign of goodwill. You reached for him, and at your movement the blade against your skin dug painfully enough to draw a sliver of blood. You stopped with a short gasp.

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t move without say-so. You look like the kind of woman who does what she’s told.”

Anger flared up in your chest, mingled with the bitter sting of the cut. You saw Loki stiffen and watched his jaw clench as he watched the blood bead and trail down the pillar of your neck. His eyes flashed dark with anger – but he didn’t move.

“Alright. Here’s how this’ll play out. The two of you will get to your feet, turn yourselves around, and head back up the ladder. Any questions?”

Both you and Loki stayed silent.

The voice hummed, and then turned hard. “On your feet.”

You rose so fast that you stumbled, and Loki caught you by the waist, quickly turning you around and setting you towards the exit before you could regain your sense of direction. You clung to his arm, breathing hard as panic set in. “Loki–” you began in a whisper.

He shook his head to silence you. He squeezed your arm, holding you steady, but that was all the comfort you received. Your heart was in your throat as you climbed up the ladder, shaking with every step. 

When you reached the top, you were silently dismayed to find your hideaway occupied by several pirates, who were rummaging through your belongings with every sense of impertinence. They didn’t even notice you. Your anger flared again, momentarily burning the edges of your vision and turning your skin warm. This was your hideaway: you were the one who set out the fabrics, folded the clothes, helped put up the boards… 

Loki was behind you, his hand on the small of your back. One glance at him told you that he felt incredibly agitated, if not as angry as you were: his gaze was hard and stormy, and he kept clenching his jaw. His muscles were taut and tense like coiled spring.

“Castaways,” the pirate behind you announced. You didn’t feel the blade of his sword, but you knew it wasn’t far from you. Everyone in the small space turned to look, unfriendly eyes set on you with malicious intent. They were all armed. You reached up without thinking to hold the neck of your shirt closed – but they weren’t looking at you.

“Bloody _fucking_ hell,” One of the sailors said, breaking the silence, staring at Loki like he was looking at a ghost. Loki’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in vague irritation, but he said nothing, letting the pirates observe him with heavy scrutiny. The sight of him clearly made them uneasy, and a few of them fingered the hilts of their swords. Panic tightened your throat.

Apparently, the one behind you was growing impatient. “You’ll have time to stare later, boys. Get a move on, and get back to the ship as quick as possible. Captain’s orders.”

The pirates resumed rummaging through your belongings. The man behind you, who seemed to be in charge, pushed Loki forward roughly to get him to move. He stumbled, catching himself on your shoulder with a grunt. You watched him tilt his chin and roll his shoulders, his fists clenched. He was going to strike him. 

You quickly grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out of your hideaway, and ignoring the pirate when he laughed. “I knew you’d choose the right thing, lass.”

A thousand biting remarks were on the tip of your tongue, but you held them back. You and Loki walked through the grass, beneath the palms as they swayed in the wind. The clouds, flat-bottomed and grey, were running fast against the sky. This island, which had felt entirely like your own only hours ago, was now overcrowded and soiled by unfamiliar boot prints in the sand. There were two dinghies waiting on the shore, and a ship anchored past where the waves broke. Loki reached for your hand and held it tightly.

You got into one of the dinghies. There were two more pirates waiting there, who stared at you with hungry eyes, but neither said a word. You clasped your hands tightly in your lap until the knuckles whitened, staring at your bare feet against the floorboards. Loki sat beside you, his shoulder against yours, gazing at the ship with a stony expression.

A few minutes passed, until the rest of the crew returned with various items in tow: crates and barrels, and of course, the chest you and Loki had found. One of the sailors threw a black shirt at Loki; he caught it, pulling it on without comment. They set the cargo into the dinghies and pushed off. The man in charge – who looked just like you’d imagined him, with a black-bearded face and mean eyes – sat across from you, looking self-satisfied. 

You weren’t sure if you felt like crying or not; you were in the hands of pirates, whose intentions were no doubt malicious. At least Loki was with you – but even he seemed on edge, and that was disconcerting. You watched your island grow smaller as you came closer and closer to the ship. Leaving it behind made your chest ache more than when you’d departed from St. Thomas. For all its shortcomings, being stranded on a desert island with Loki had felt more like home than your birthplace ever had.

You were so preoccupied by thought that you didn’t realize the dinghies had reached the ship until one of the pirates hauled you out of the boat. You landed on the deck and stumbled, regaining your balance and straightening your posture. This ship wasn’t so different from Loki’s – but the crew couldn’t have been starker in contrast. Every eye that turned on you felt wicked. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, telling you to run – but there was nowhere to go.

Loki’s hand gripped yours again, and you held onto it like an anchor.

The bearded man pushed him forward roughly, and once again Loki obliged. You could tell now that Loki understood himself to be outnumbered; fighting the pirates on the island would have been foolish. Fighting them here would be a death wish. As the rest of the crew unloaded the cargo, the bearded man directed you belowdecks, to a set of double doors ornately engraved. On a ship piloted by rough and rowdy-looking men, such a beautiful thing seemed out of place. 

_Maybe he could speak to the Captain and work out some kind of deal,_ you thought.

The doors swung open. Your eyes fell on the figure standing there, looking out the window, his face hidden from view. Tangled waves of raven hair, made wiry by years of ocean water, fell against broad shoulders. Dark blue sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. His scarred, weathered arms were clasped behind his back. Your heart fell with a heavy sense of foreboding: you knew, somehow, that you’d seen him before.

Or perhaps a younger version of him.

The Captain turned around, and you felt Loki freeze beside you. You watched his face pale with dread, with no sign of movement as he held his breath. You waited. The Captain smiled, wolfish and white-teethed, and your heart stopped entirely.

“Welcome aboard,” he greeted you, his words dripping with honey-coated poison. “I’m sure I need no introduction.”


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're raising the stakes.  
Thanks for your patience between updates!!

The man standing in front of you was Charles Vane; he could be no one else. Even if he hadn’t borne a resemblance to Loki, you knew in your bones that it was the truth. This was the most barbaric and feared pirate in the Caribbean. Known for his cruelty and ruthless nature, a man who escaped death and condemned so many others to it for his own amusement. He was supposed to be the stuff of ballads and bedtime stories – and yet here he stood before you, fully flesh-and-blood.

His similarity to Loki was striking, but the two of them weren’t the same: Vane was older. Harder. Meaner. His face was clean-shaven, lined with age and poorly-healed scars. His nose had obviously been broken, twice. He was taller than Loki by a good inch at least, and when he stepped towards you it was with a heavy footfall, not the catlike gait that you had grown used to when you watched Loki move. This man was not elegant, nor was he kind, and looking at him filled you with an unearthly sense of dread. Vane’s eyes were the color of ice and twice as cold. 

You silently thanked the universe that their resemblance ended where it did. Loki’s beautiful eyes were all his own: sea-green and stormy, fixed on the man in front of you with something akin to both fury and fear. He stood silent, hands still at his sides, and waited for Vane to speak.

And speak he did. Vane’s voice resounded in a low-toned voice, accented and rough – but by no means unintelligent. “You know, I caught wind of a rumor that my vengeful ghost was roaming these waters,” he began. “Thanks to Lady Luck, the source of that rumor stands before me. My impersonator.”

He scrutinized Loki for a long, scathing moment. You held your breath. Then he gave a dissatisfied sigh, shaking his head. “No. Even a blind man could see you’re mine. Let me guess, some harlot’s brat from Basseterre?”

Loki flinched, but said nothing. Vane’s icy gaze flitted to you, and he stepped over, smirking wickedly. You took a step back. “And who are _you_?” He asked. “His whore?”

Shock flashed across your face, which he mistook for fear. “Oh, no,” he tutted. “I’m not going to hurt you, dove. Not now. I just want to look.” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to turn and face him, studying you. Fury burned hot under your skin. You shied away from his hawk-like gaze, keeping your own eyes fixed on his dark leather boots: clean, new. Expensive. 

He turned your head sharply up to look at him and you gasped aloud at the jerked movement, eliciting a rasping chuckle from him. “Oh, dear. Did that hurt?” He asked with false sympathy. “I would love to hear the other sounds you can make.”

Your expression changed as the anger simmering in your blood sparked and caught fire. You darted for the sword at his belt, pulling it from his sheath and lunging towards him. Vane’s eyes widened right before he took three stumbling steps back, narrowly missing your swing. The rapier whistled as it cut through the air, and missed – you were nearly pulled down by it, unused to the weight of the weapon in your hands.

You quickly brought the sword back up, holding it with both hands, breathing fast and hard. Vane regarded you with narrowed eyes and an amused expression as he reached up slowly to touch his leathered cheek: there was a thin sliver of red blood. He began to laugh.

Your palms were sweating; you nervously readjusted your grip on the hilt and glanced at Loki. Your heart fell when you saw that your outburst had resulted in him being held back by more pirates, grimacing at the pain of a knife against his throat. The pirates themselves were hard-faced, but you could see uncertainty behind their eyes when they looked at you: they didn’t know whether or not to seize you, too. 

Vane’s laughter was still ringing in your ears, bordering on manic. You turned your gaze back to him, feeling the anger in your chest begin to heat up again. There was a growing and insistent urge in your mind to run the sword right through him. Would it be hard to kill him? You wondered. Half of you doubted you had the strength to do so. The other half was certain your bravado could make up for it.

Vane laughed and sighed, shaking his head. “Ooh, a spitfire! You’re not what I took you for, young lady, I will give you that.” 

He took a step towards you and you raised the sword again, clenching your jaw. He chuckled, raising a hand. “You’ve proven your point. Put the sword down.” 

“Get away from me,” you snarled. You were silently impressed by how confident you sounded.

He raised his eyebrows and stopped walking. A beat of silence passed. Then, without turning, Vane gave his men an emotionless instruction. “Kill him.” 

You froze. The man with the knife flipped it in his hand and raised it, poised to strike right through Loki’s chest. Loki struggled, but he was held fast, and you watched the knife come down like a bolt of lightning. 

You didn’t realize you screamed until the shrill sound was out of your mouth. “_STOP_!”

Vane’s hand snapped up in a motion to stop, and the blade halted, hovering right above Loki’s heart. You gasped, blinking away the panicked tears in your eyes. Your arms were shaking badly from the weight of the sword; when Vane took it from you, it almost felt like a relief. 

You stumbled backwards as Vane approached you. Your back hit the wall. His long-fingered hand wrapped around your neck and you inhaled quickly, eyes widening in panic. There was nowhere to stare but his cold eyes, malicious and unforgiving.

His fingers tightened and you gasped for breath as you tried to breathe. Your blood was roaring in your ears. Black spots began to float in front of your vision when you couldn’t find enough air to fill your lungs. Your fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm, but his grip only tightened.

Your limbs were beginning to feel static and numb when you heard Loki’s voice, like it was deep underwater: “...whatever you want with me! Just let her go!”

Vane barked a laugh, but his grip loosened somewhat, and you gasped greedily for air while he spoke. “My bastard son, making demands. You should know that parlay requires something to trade.” 

“Whatever you want,” Loki insisted, his voice hoarse and strained. His eyes kept darting back to you. Loki’s chest ached with the effort of holding himself back from running to you – if he could even free himself from the men holding him back. This was a losing battle. Loki knew that.

But evidently his words had piqued Vane’s interest. His grip on your neck loosened further, and you dropped to the floor. Your legs crumpled beneath you. He stepped over to Loki, ignoring you for the moment as you coughed and held your neck. You felt at the tender skin that would undoubtedly bruise soon, sucking in gulps of air.

“Do you have a name?” Vane asked.

Loki clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away from you, his eyes red-rimmed. “Loki.”

“The poorhouse only believed in first names?” Vane deadpanned. Loki’s jaw shifted again, but he didn’t answer. 

Vane’s expression hardened.“As I’m sure you can guess, my boys and I have suffered some slow business lately. More ships in these waters than ever, yet none of them seem to be carrying anything worth pirating. Of course, now I know why. You’ve been getting to them first. Which means you must be decent at what you do.” He smirked wickedly. “Runs in the blood.”

Loki’s eyes were brimming with hatred. The air between them was so dense, you could cut it with a blade. “Go on.”

“If you’re as quick-witted as you seem,” he continues, “then you know that more than half the boats sailing here run under the banner of Odin & Sons. I want you to steal from them.”

You tensed, meeting Loki’s eyes for a silent moment before he glanced away. Vane couldn’t possibly know that Loki had personal connections to Odin… right? So there had to be another reason for mentioning it. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you could vaguely remember a piece of the letter hidden in Loki’s dresser:

_We encountered a pirate ship off the coast of the British Virgin Isles. Rest assured knowing that their attempt to plunder and sink our ship failed, and that we successfully defeated this unlawful enemy. Their Captain – a gruesome man, I will not tell you of him further – has been taken into custody to be Hanged._

Realization dawned on you. Odin had tried to kill Charles Vane, and failed. 

Vane certainly seemed like the kind of person capable of holding a twenty-year grudge. 

Loki shifted his weight, nodding. His shoulders were visibly tense. “How much?”

Vane’s crooked lips turned up in a wolfish, yellow-teethed smirk. “Twelve thousand guineas.”

“Twelve thousand?!” You repeated, and immediately regretted it – your throat felt like sandpaper. Twelve thousand guineas was a small fortune, more than you could visualize in your vivid imagination.

Vane turned his head and smiled down at you curiously, raising his eyebrow. “Do you think you’re worth less?”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I didn’t make it clear?” He asked, turning back to Loki with a gracious air. “The twelve thousand guineas is a ransom. For your precious lady. I can tell you care a great deal about her and, well, if I let you both go, there’s no guarantee you’ll return.”

The pirates standing at the door seized you both. You were dragged roughly to your feet and pushed towards the door – nearly falling, if Loki hadn’t been there to catch you, nearly tripped up himself.

“Let him go in a few hours,” Vane ordered as you were dragged out, clasping his hands behind his back and returning his icy gaze to the window. “That way he might actually have a chance to survive.”

The gilded doors to the Captain’s quarters slammed shut behind you. The pirates hauled you down the wooden stairs to the brig, tossing you carelessly into one of the rusted cells. You landed hard on your elbows, gasping in shock and pain as the metal bars clanged shut behind you.

Their footsteps faded while you were still shaking from adrenaline, and the hatch fell shut with a bang, leaving you in the dark. Light filtered through cracks in the wood above you, lighting up pillars of dust and the whiskers of the occasional rat as it crept by, scavenging for tack crumbs. You could hear the pirates above deck, their brash laughs and harsh voices. Your chest heaved and your limbs shook as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your knees, swallowing – your throat felt raw. 

Suddenly you realized Loki wasn’t in your cell. You turned around, reaching for him and blinking away panicked tears. “Loki?”

You heard his voice immediately. “I’m here.” 

You turned towards the sound, crawling over and reaching out until you found metal bars. You wrapped your fingers around them, setting your forehead against the cold metal. “Loki?” You repeated in a whisper.

You felt his fingers cover yours. “I’m here,” he said. “It’s alright.” His hands were too big to fit through the bars, so you reached through the gap. He took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm and whispering your name against your skin. You found his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb, tracing the sharp lines of his face and tucking back his hair while you did your best not to cry, though it wasn’t good enough: warm tears slid down your cheeks before you could stop them, salty-sweet when they reached the corners of your mouth. At least it was dark, and he couldn’t see them.

You sat against the bars for uncounted minutes with a painful ache in your chest, holding his hand between the bars with your head resting on your knees. Your head was so full of thoughts that it hurt. You let everything in your mind drift, not latching on to any thought. You were too tired; you wanted to be back on your island, cradled in Loki’s strong arms on the floor of your hideaway while you listened to the sound of rain outside…

You heard Loki inhale, and then he spoke, his voice low and quiet. “Listen to me.”

You lifted your head and leaned it against the bars, nodding – though he couldn’t see. “I’m listening,” you whispered.

“They’re going to keep you here,” He began. You could tell by the tightness in his low baritone that facing the reality of your situation aloud scared him. When you’d first met him, imagining Loki scared would have been an impossibility. What did a man like him have to fear? 

You realized your thoughts had drowned out what he was saying, and squeezed his hand. “What?”

“You’ll be stuck here until I return with the guineas,” he repeated. “I’ll make him swear not to harm you. Otherwise he won’t get the money.”

Your gaze flickered. You silently doubted that Charles Vane was a man who would keep that kind of promise – or any promise, for that matter. You inhaled deeply and tried not to sound frightened. “How long will that take?”

There was a long, painful pause. “I … I don’t know.”

Despair settled into your bones. “Loki,” you began, your voice wobbling, and closed your mouth when tears sprang to your eyes again.

Both his hands quickly wrapped over yours, gripping it tight in the dark. “Listen to me. I promise to return to you, do you understand?” He swore hoarsely. “Trust me, _please_.”

A heavy beat of silence passed between you, interrupted only by the slow creaking of the ship and the heavy footfalls above you, shaking dust from the boards. You sucked in a breath and swallowed your despair, and squeezed his fingers tightly. “I trust you,” you whispered tearfully, so that your voice wouldn’t break. “I always have.”

Even though you couldn’t see him, you could imagine his bittersweet smirk when he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “Smart girl.”

~ 

Loki wasn’t sure how long it had been since you fell asleep; your hand was still pushed between the bars, clinging to his. He knew you were exhausted – he was, too, but not in a way that sleep could remedy.

Loki had met his father, and it was everything he’d feared. To make things worse, you were caught in the fray: the only woman he had ever grown to care for, your safety now hanging in the balance. It turned his stomach over with frustration and anxiety. Risking his own life, he could handle. It was a familiar type of fear, the kind that hardly broke a sweat on him anymore. But yours?

He used to think there was nothing in life that he feared.

Loki scoffed aloud in the dark and rubbed his eyes, seeing stars behind his vision. His head was swimming. There had to be a way out of this; there always was. 

The hatch opened. Moonlight flooded in and drenched the brig in blue light, illuminating the silhouettes of the pirates as they came down the steps. Vane followed, holding a lantern and smirking grimly, his lined face made skeletal by the flickering light. “Get up.”

Loki hesitated, and looked over at you – now that there was some light, he could see you, curled towards him with your hair falling over your face, lips gently parted. Were he closer, he could tuck your hair back and kiss those perfect lips. Instead he squeezed your hand, letting it gently drop as he stood to his feet and faced Vane.

“Swear that you won’t harm her,” He grated. He kept his voice low so that he wouldn’t wake you. “You or any of your crew, or I won’t return with a single coin.”

“And what if you don’t return?” Vane asked, leaning casually against the bars and tilting his head. “Come now, boy. Be smart.”

“I will,” Loki insisted coldly. “You have my word.”

Vane considered this silently, eyeing Loki with his ice-cold eyes. He sighed noisily, and shrugged. “Fine. I’ll give you one month. For one month, your darling will go unharmed and well-fed. After that, I’ll start sending her back to you in pieces. Fingers, pieces of hair, an ear,” he continued, ignoring the way Loki’s face paled and hardened. “Deal?”

There was a beat of silence. Loki nodded once.

The door swung open, and he stepped out, casting a backwards glance at you before one of the pirates shoved him towards the stairs. He caught himself and headed upwards, stepping out onto the deck. The night breeze hit his face and raised goosebumps on his skin. The ocean was black as the sky and smooth as glass; normally it would call to him with a sense of familiarity, like being beckoned back into a lover’s bed. But right now, he was leaving that lover behind – sleeping in a cell, blissfully unaware of his absence. It felt like betrayal.

He walked over to the dinghy and got in before anyone had a chance to shove him, staring at Vane as he lowered himself in. Vane gazed back, their gazes evenly matched, and he smiled wickedly. “Give him the coin.”

One of the pirates tossed Loki a gold coin. He caught it with both hands, frowning at it as he turned it over; at first glance, it was a normal guinea, but the stamp on the face side wasn’t ordinary: instead it was a sea serpent, monstrous and snarling as it devoured its own tail. He recognised the sigil. Any pirate worth his salt knew what it meant. 

“Once you’ve found the money, you can deliver it there,” Vane said, holding the lantern near his face. “One month. Twelve thousand guineas.”

Vane’s pirates lowered the dinghy into the water. Loki pulled the oars up and set them in their hooks, throwing the rope out. The ship began drifting away, a black silhouette drifting in the sea, sails full of wind and travelling fast.

A few minutes later, he was alone. 

Loki tightened his jaw and looked upwards, blinking away the wet in his eyes so that he could see the stars. The constellations twinkled and glowed like the smiles of old friends, and it didn’t take long before he found it: Polaris, shining bright at the center of the celestial sphere, pointing towards home.

Loki picked up the oars and steeled himself with a deep breath. He began to row – guided by the stars above, headed for St. Thomas.


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely from Loki's perspective. We'll get back to our debutante reader in a moment, but for now, let's look at his side of the story as it unfolds. ♡

The sun was making its first appearance over the glass sea, turning the sky pink and lighting on the waves with a rosy glow. The clouds were as pale and wispy as stretched cotton. As the sunrise dimmed the map of stars above, it burned bright in the reflection of Loki’s bloodshot eyes, staring out at the waves as they turned to gold.

His hands were already blistered from rowing. The sinew of his muscles had been stretched to their limit a few hours ago, and so he had let go of the oars to hold his head in his hands instead, filled with a despair that felt larger than the ocean around him. Hot, frustrated tears fell from his eyes, more to try and soothe their dryness than to curb the aching in his chest. Perhaps it was a mix of both. It was only in raising his head to dry his eyes, blinking away the water and fatigue, that he saw the merchant ship approaching.

Loki’s brows pulled together. It was a trading company ship; not Odin’s. Rather small. The bell on deck was ringing, signaling a man overboard as they approached, and a few seconds later, a rope landed in Loki’s lap.

Several pairs of hands helped haul him over the side, pulling him onto the deck, but they were quick to leave him; Loki’s reddened eyes and haggard look gave him a frightening aura, one that the men obviously weren’t keen to hang around. He slowly straightened his posture, rolling his sore shoulders and looking down at the Captain, standing in front of him. 

Loki gave him a single glance, surveying him without much consideration. He was small and portly with receding hair, hardly intimidating– though clearly he was doing his best to look nonplussed by Loki’s sudden and unexpected arrival.

“Glad to have you aboard, sir,” he greeted, as warmly as he was able. “I’m Cap’n Montgomery, and this’s my ship _The Duchess._ How’d you wind up all the way out here?”

Loki didn’t answer. He stood still on the rocking deck, his posture stiff, looking out at the pale dawn sky with a hardened expression. 

Captain Montgomery waited awkwardly for his response, shifting his posture. Then he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to talk elsewhere?” He gestured to the doors that led to the Captain’s cabin.

Loki’s eyes trailed to the left, and he nodded. He followed the Captain inside, walking slow and cat-like with a look of apprehension as he stepped over the threshold. His eyes were quick in surveying the small room, unadorned by lavish decor. The only notable object of interest was the mahogany desk that Captain Montgomery sat himself behind, setting his elbows atop its surface and waiting for Loki to close the door.

He did so, and stepped over. The ship’s charter laid open-faced by the Captain’s hand, and Loki’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “Where is this vessel headed?”

Captain Montgomery’s eyebrows raised and he held out his hand in a stopping motion. “Now, hang on a minute. I have some questions to ask you first–”

Loki reached forward and spun the paper to face him, scanning the lines. “Kingston?”

The Captain’s eyes flickered. “Aye, that’s right, sir.”

Loki’s frown deepened. “That is _exactly_ the opposite of where I need to go,” Loki muttered in annoyance.

The man shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. “Well–”

“What day is it?” Loki interrupted again, looking up at him. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass. They might have been a different color, but when he wanted them to, Loki’s eyes could hold just as much chill as his father’s. 

The Captain blinked. “Uh– the first of August, sir.”

“What was your name again?”

“Mont– Montgomery. Captain Montgomery.”

Loki hummed shortly, leaning on the desk. He glanced back at the closed doors, then returned to the paper in front of him, running a finger over his lip in thought. The captain watched him uneasily as he stood there, still as stone, with nothing but the rocking of the ship to mark the passage of time.

Suddenly Loki reached forward and grabbed the captain by the collar, slamming his face into the mahogany and twisting his arm behind his back in one fluid motion. The Captain shouted in surprised pain, only to be silenced when Loki twisted his arm further, his lips curled in a snarl.

“Listen to me very carefully, Montgomery,” he threatened between his teeth. “It is in our mutual best interests that you take this ship to St. Thomas immediately. One more inch in the wrong direction and this arm will break. If you don’t do as I say, the same thing will happen to your neck.”

The Captain struggled fruitlessly beneath Loki’s grip, his face squashed against the desk in a contorted expression of anger. “You – you bastard!”

“Pirate,” Loki corrected, applying the slightest fraction of pressure. It was enough to make the captain gasp and pant in pain. “Do we understand each other, Montgomery?”

“It’ll–” The Captain wheezed, struggling to speak. “It’ll take more’n three days to get there. The wind… the wind’s against us.”

“Then you should bear a hand and tell your men to come around,” Loki suggested coldly, and let go of him. Captain Montgomery stood up so fast that he stumbled backwards, holding his arm and staring at Loki with frightened eyes. He darted past Loki and out of the cabin, running faster than Loki suspected he ever had in his life. Judging by his portly stature, it was probably a good thing for him. Nothing like a healthy fear of death to keep you fit.

Loki stood in the empty cabin and listened to the muted sounds of the captain shouting orders above, and he tightened his jaw, reaching into his pocket. The cold coin was there, safely stowed away. He rubbed it between his fingers, smoothing over the serpent’s pattern with the pad of his thumb. His eyes drifted to the window. Somewhere, out there, you were being held in a cell – stuck behind rusted bars while the sand in the hourglass slowly sifted through.

August the first. That meant he had until the end of the month to secure your safety, with at least four days already spent by the time he reached St. Thomas. Loki’s grip tightened on the coin. If fate had pushed you together – and he firmly believed that hit had – then fate would keep you from being pulled apart.

~

Nearly a week later, The Duchess floated into the rainy port of St. Thomas. The sun peeked out occasionally behind the clouds while it showered. It was one of those odd, rainy summer days before hurricane season where the weather couldn’t quite whip up enough energy to storm with full rage and intensity; not yet.

The sailors were still tying the small merchant ship to the dock when the gangplank dropped and Loki descended from the ship, running down the slippery wharf so fast that he nearly stumbled. He dodged the men loading crates, ducking underneath a load of lumber carried between two sailors, and climbed the cobble stairs with exhausted determination.

Home was only a few hours away, but Loki wasn’t headed there; not yet. Instead he headed up the street, doing his best to keep his tired legs from giving out underneath him. He made a right and found the corner bar, stumbling inside. This was the place you and Loki had first encountered one another, but also somewhere that he’d frequented long before your fateful meeting. The creaking floorboards beneath his feet were as familiar as the mattress of his own bed, and the heady smells of mahogany and beer reassured his senses that he was safe. Home. 

Being the middle of the day, the corner bar was totally devoid of customers. Light streamed in through the fogged windows while the building’s only occupant, the bartender, polished glasses behind the counter with monotonous repetition, glancing up only when Loki pulled himself into one of the barstools and leaned against the counter, his hair and clothes dripping wet. The only sounds were the steady shower of light rain outside and the squeak of fabric rubbed against glass.

“You’re a bit early in the day, young master,” The bartender observed curiously. The man sported a heavy accent behind his mustache, but his tone was good-natured and amiable. He was as much a part of the bar as the polished countertop and neatly lined bottles on the shelves behind him.

“I need a drink,” Loki said hoarsely, dropping his head into one hand and massaging his temples. His whole body ached, inside and out. Beating slow inside his chest, Loki’s heart weighed him down as though it was made of lead.

The glass slid down the counter and Loki caught it with his free hand: cold, polished glass with dark liquor inside. He tilted his head back and downed it in one go, setting the empty cup down on the polished wood. The bartender refilled it without asking, handing it back to him before returning to his former task. He polished the cups until they sparkled like crystal, despite the fact that they were already clean; no doubt it was a soothing, repetitive notion to help the empty afternoon hours pass by. “You ‘ere to talk, or just drink?”

Loki scoffed. “What’s there to talk about?” He asked, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them tiredly. Dull sparks floated behind his vision, signs of dehydration and an oncoming headache.

“Fair ‘nough, sir. I won’t press you.”

Loki dropped his hand and regarded the man with a flat expression. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he dropped his gaze, spinning the glass of liquor in his hand. He stared at the distorted wood pattern of the bartop through the brown liquor. 

The bartender watched him with soft, dark eyes for a moment longer before he tried again. “Is it a woman?”

“Of course it’s a woman,” Loki snapped, though his words didn’t have much bite; they never did when he was telling the truth. He thumbed the rim of the glass. “It’s _the_ woman,” he admitted, more quietly.

The bartender nodded knowingly, tossing his rag aside and fetching a fresh one. “She leave you?” He asked, his tone conversational and unassuming, from decades of practice with discussions far more delicate than this one. 

Loki shook his head. His wet raven hair slipped past his shoulders when he did, falling in gentle waves past his ears and smelling of saltwater. “No. I lost her.” He frowned at the sudden blurriness in his eyes, downing his second glass and setting it down with a gentle thud. He sniffed. Straightened in his seat. “I’m getting her back.” Whether he said this to reassure the bartender or himself, Loki wasn’t entirely sure.

The city bell tolled out the hour, bringing him back to a state of clarity. It was later than he’d thought. Loki reached into his pocket for money to pay – and then realized he didn’t have any, apart from the serpent coin. The coin he couldn’t give away. Loki stalled, his elegant fingers still at his sides while he tried to think of a solution to this sudden dilemma. 

The bartender noticed his hesitation and extended his hand with a polite shake of his head. “You’ve been generous in the past, young master,” he stated. “I trust you’ll be back.”

Loki met his eyes. Normally he would take offense to a gesture of charity; Loki had never lacked for money, not once in his life, and he never intended to. But if he’d learnt anything from the past weeks, it was that even his best intentions didn’t guarantee the future. He met the bartender’s eyes and found them to be soft and reassuring. He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

The man shrugged, like it wasn’t any problem to him, taking Loki’s empty glass and polishing it alongside all the rest. “Bring your woman next time.”

Loki laughed once, humorlessly, and stood. “I will,” he promised, with a final nod of thanks before he turned his back to the bartender and walked back out towards the drenched cobblestone street, feeling renewed somehow – perhaps by the drink, though more likely by the man’s kindness. Not everyone in the world was bloodthirsty and rotten.

_Not everyone in the world is a pirate_, Loki thought. Of course, he considered himself a rare exception: Loki was a pirate, yes, but a reputable one. Honorable, even. However – somewhere deep in his heart – Loki was beginning to come to terms with the fact that getting you back might permanently soil that reputation. He intended to do whatever it took, however foul, even if it meant killing Vane and all his crewmen with his bare hands.

Would you be able to love him, if it came to that? If he became a murderer? Would you let him touch you with bloody hands, or would you turn away in fear and disgust?

The thought disquieted him, and he shook his head to clear the thought. Whether you hated him or not at the end of this didn’t matter, so long as you got out alive. He owed you that much. 

His seaglass eyes looked up instinctively towards the road that he knew lead home, but he turned the opposite way instead: there was still one more errand to run. 

In order for Loki to both save you and maintain a clear ledger inside his father’s business, he had to find a way to combine the two. That meant enlisting in his family’s help, while simultaneously making it look like he wasn’t involved at all. During his time floating adrift in the waves, waiting for the sunrise, Loki had surmised a plan of action. With some skill, and a great deal of luck, it would prove itself successful.

He hoped his luck hadn’t run out yet.

Loki found himself in a familiar backside alley, the entrance hidden behind empty fruit crates stacked six feet high. He stepped carefully down the narrow cobble path, wrinkling his nose at the stench of city sludge and old bathwater dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. The clotheslines above hung limp in the afternoon, the fabric heavy and wet from the rain – whoever put them out had neglected to retrieve them. He found the heavy wooden door with gold hinges and knocked, twice. Then he stepped back into the rain, no more than a light mist at this point, and waited. 

He was considering turning away when it finally opened. The man who answered the door had dark skin and eyes that shimmered like copper. His hair fell over his broad shoulders in locs, decorated with metal clasps. His face wore a stern expression that revealed exactly nothing, and he waited with one hand on the door – prepared to shut it again at a moment’s notice. “Yes?”

“Heimdall,” Loki greeted solemnly, and glanced out at the alley for listening ears.

“You don’t have an appointment.”

“This isn’t my usual business,” he explained, squinting as misty rainwater dripped down his face and clung to his eyelashes. “It’ll be quick. I only need one page; no forgings, no signatures. It just can’t be my hand.”

The dark man hesitated, gripping the door while he considered this. Loki’s clothes stuck to him, and he silently wished that Heimdall would at least let him inside, but he knew not to press the matter. Their relationship was a strictly professional one, and he knew how much he was asking. “I’ll pay twice whatever you ask,” he added.

Heimdall’s copper eyes met Loki’s, his expression still flat, and then he opened the door further. “Come in. Don’t sit. You’ll ruin the chair.”

Loki obliged, stepping in quickly. The room was dark and smelled of leather, lit only by candles and the narrow, cross-hatched windows that lined one wall. The other three sides of the small, square space were lined by bookshelves, lined with bottles, parchment, and bookkeeper’s tools. Less conspicuously, there were a few shelves full of antiquated volumes, which he knew to contain ledgers upon ledgers of signatures and scripts. A forger’s library.

Heimdall sat down at the desk, dipping his quill into the inkwell. “You’re lucky. I’m not busy today.”

Loki nodded in agreement, feeling relieved. “Yes, I know – it’s short notice.”

“So,” Heimdall began without looking, pulling a clean sheet of plain paper from the desk drawer. “This isn’t a false shipping charter, or an inventory log, or a bank note. What is it?”

“A ransom letter.” Loki regretted revealing this information the moment it left his mouth, but he had no choice – better to tell it now, rather than when Heimdall started realizing it halfway through writing and risked blotting a page.

Heimdall’s metallic eyes flitted up and he frowned at Loki, setting the quill down and leaning back in his chair. “Now, why would you want me to write that?”

Loki looked up and set his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “That, I can’t tell you.”

Heimdall regarded him silently. Whether it was judgement, scrutiny, contemplation, Loki couldn’t say for certain. Heimdall’s expression didn’t change. While Loki respected his ability to be discreet, Heimdall’s strong-and-silent personality made reading him nigh impossible. Finally, he raised one eyebrow. “It’ll cost extra.”

Loki’s mouth opened slightly and he nearly rolled his eyes. “I can afford it,” he grated, feeling a flicker of agitation in his chest that the man would even be concerned about such a thing. “This isn’t a fleeting interest. Give me what I want, receipt it under my private catalogue, and I’ll be on my way. ”

Heimdall sighed and picked up his quill again, leaning over the desk. “Fine.”

Loki inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows and directing his gaze to the ceiling. He’d been devising a speech from memory for a week, running it over his tongue inside his mouth and sounding it out when no one was around. He dropped his eyes and began reciting the words from memory, watching Heimdall’s skilled hand start painting the words on the page almost as soon as he spoke. “_To his esteemed grace who receives this note …”_

~

“_... I hope it finds in a prosperous enough position to enable us both to get what we want_,” Thor read aloud, his elegant brow furrowed in both concentration. He unfolded the letter further and skimmed a few more lines silently. Flipped it over, and found no return address. He looked up at the maid standing at the door and held it up in the air. “What is this?”

Her eyes were wide with innocence and confusion. “I – I don’t know, sir, it was delivered with all the rest.”

Loki sat silently at one end of the long table, holding a spoon in his hand and stirring the bowl of soup before him in slow, disinterested circles. Green flecks of some kind of vegetable rose and fell from its cream-colored surface; neat chunks of tomato, too, alongside pale meat cooked to perfection and pulled apart. 

It was a favorite of his. He knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but even the smell of it wafting up in gentle curls of steam failed to appetize him. Every ounce of his focus was bent on looking unassuming as Thor continued to read the note aloud; the note that he’d carefully hidden amongst the other letters, delivered at breakfast every morning.

_“I have in my possession one soon-to-be bride of your eldest son. I understand she means a great deal to you, so let me get to the point: in exchange for 12,000 guineas, I will return her unharmed, so long as the exchange is made at the end of August…_” Thor’s brow furrowed further. 

Loki had been home for three days– it was the ninth of August now, and an otherwise ordinary Wednesday morning. It felt strange to know the date again after being stuck on an island, where the only sense of time could be ascertained in the rise and set of the sun.

Only last night had he decided to risk delivering the note. Waiting to reveal your situation to Thor and his father was agony, but Loki couldn’t afford to take any kind of risk. The coincidence of his arrival and the note’s arrival on the same day would have been too close for comfort. Loki was cautious to a fault, and he was painfully aware of that fact: he was treading on your borrowed time, after all. His stomach twisted, feeling physically ill, and he abandoned the spoon entirely, staring out the window with a thinly veiled expression of discomfort as Thor finished reading.

“_Otherwise, she will die gruesomely, after her usefulness and entertainment to us has been spent._ With a letter V as the signit,” he added as an afterthought, setting the letter down carefully, like it might bite him. He reached for the envelope it had been delivered in and tilted it, and the serpent coin fell into his palm. He gazed at it in silence.

Loki was practically crawling out of his skin. “V,” he repeated, breaking the silence with false curiosity and looking between Thor and his father. “Like Charles Vane, perhaps? The pirate?”

“No doubt,” Odin replied amiably, reaching across the table for the letter. Thor handed it to him, his expression stony, waiting while their father read the ransom note over for himself. He let out a derisive scoff and shook his head, letting it drop. “Twelve thousand guineas.”

Thor’s handsome face lit on confusion. “You will pay the ransom, won’t you? Her ship was supposed to arrive in Norway weeks ago. Who knows how long she’s been held captive.”

“That much for one girl?” Odin said skeptically. “A girl who wasn’t keen on marrying you either, I recall. Ungrateful thing. The whole arrangement has been nothing more than a bad business venture.”

Loki’s face was dangerously pale, anger lighting up his veins like fire on alcohol. “But we have the money,” he argued, trying to keep his vocal tone only mildly invested. It cracked. “And you made a deal with her father.”

Thor nodded in agreement, though clearly exhibiting a great deal more patience. “Loki’s right, Father. We have a duty of care–” 

“Silence!” He interrupted, and they both shut their mouths. Odin set down his fork to eye both of them with a steely grey stare. “There is nothing we can do.”

“But we _can_,” Thor argued, leaning against the table on one hand and gesturing with the other. “We’ve seen the bank ledgers – Loki and I both,” he added, nodding to his brother. “Your wealth would hardly be dented. I don’t see why –” 

“I will _not_ deal with pirates,” Odin groused firmly, his voice icy and cold.

Something inside Loki snapped. He stood abruptly, turning to Odin. The chair scraped on the ground behind him. 

“So that’s it, then,” he began. He was smiling, but in more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “You would first resign her to marry a man she doesn’t know, and then let her die when it’s inconvenient to help?” He pointed an accusing finger. “You’re just afraid Vane will slip through your grasp, the same way he did before, and wound your pride more than he ever could your prospects.” Loki realized that he was snarling, his lip curled and tone venomous, cheeks flushed uncharacteristically red but he didn’t care – it was too late now. The man who he called Father stared back with equal animosity, the two of them locked in heated, palpable silence.

Thor excused himself from the dining room with a quiet, grumbling apology, and Loki followed.

When he exited the room and the doors shut behind him, he saw Thor walking down the hall – but his footsteps were slow, and he clearly didn’t know where they intended on taking him. Loki’s eyes flickered, and he sighed, loud enough to draw Thor’s attention and halt his steps. 

He turned around and came to Loki’s side. He watched his brother reach up and press at his eyes, rubbing them none-too-gently, and he glanced back at the gilded door. “It sounded like you know a great deal about her,” he stated quietly, breaking the thin silence between them. His large hands were restless at his sides, wanting for actions instead of words. 

Loki dropped his hand and cleared his throat, and his eyes were distant. “I spoke with her at the ball before she left. You remember.”

Thor grunted, looking out the window. “I didn’t get the chance. I had business to attend to.”

Loki’s lips upturned in a bitter smirk. “You always do.” His gaze found the window, too, staring out at the palm fronds as they blew in the humid afternoon wind. His chest tightened with the reminder of your island – the trees and the cave, of your smaller body pressed beneath his, smelling sweet and tinged by saltwater. Of feeling complete.

Loki could only guess at how much his father knew. Thanks to his outburst, Odin knew Loki was aware of his true parentage – which meant it would only take one line drawn in the sand between Loki and Vane to connect the dots and undo all his work. Your life and Loki’s livelihood, felled in one devastating blow.

Thor was uncharacteristically still, a sign that he was deep in thought. His wide arms were crossed over his barrel of a chest, brow furrowed, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, silently dissatisfied. “We have to do something.”

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, picking at the dark green fabric of his wide sleeves and spreading his fingers, staring disinterestedly at the faint scars that lined the back of his hand from years of seamanship. “Don’t humor me. You would never act outside father’s orders.”

“I would,” Thor argued, and paused, glancing over his shoulder at Loki. “If I had help.”

Loki’s expression flickered and he looked up, meeting Thor’s gaze. The two of them shared a silent exchange; the same kind that they had since boyhood, a silent discussion and a mutual agreement. Perhaps your cause wasn’t lost after all.

The corner of Thor’s mouth turned up in a smile, and he shrugged his broad shoulders, returning his gaze to the window. “Besides,” he added, “What kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t keep her alive?”

At the same time as a humoring chuckle left his lips, Loki’s breath was punched from his lungs. Realization hit him like a hollow bell – something he had forgotten to consider when he decided to enlist Thor’s help. The two of you were, by all accounts, still engaged. If Thor and Loki succeeded in rescuing you, you would wed him all the same, hopelessly stuck in the same trap as before. His mind searched frantically for an easy solution, some weakness in this sudden and unexpected obstacle, but to his growing panic he found none, and a feeling of utter hopelessness rooted inside his chest that was too deep to claw out.

Loki might yet be able to save your life. But it wouldn’t be a life with him that you’d return to.


End file.
